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WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 




Theik bridal tour in an ox-cart was well nigh 
A DELIRIUM OF Jo\' .— Page IS. 



WHEN NEIGHBORS 

WERE NEIGHBORS 

A STORY OF LOVE AND LIFE 
IN OLDEN DAYS 



BY 



GALUSHA ANDERSON, S.T.D., LL.D. 

Profetior Emeritus in University of Chicago 



The ancient rural character, composed 

Of simple manners, feelings unsuppress'd 

And undisguised, and strong and serious thought. 

Wordsworth. 




BOSTON 
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 



EILL 



Published September, igii. 



Copyright, 191 i, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 



When Neighbors Were Neighbors 



t 



4> 



NorfaootJ Prcsa 

Berwick & Siuitli Co. 

Norwood, Mass., U. S. A. 



C:CLA21)7355 



To THE Children, Grandchildren, and 

Great-Grandchildren of 

John Erskine and Aunt Lucy 



FOREWORD 

I WROTE this book because I did not see how I could 
help it. I had long possessed an intimate knowledge 
of at least one rural community, which I knew, not as 
an outside observer, but from personal experience. I 
was born there, was a pupil in its schools, attended its 
churches, shared in its sports, took part in its indus- 
tries, and entered into its political, social, and religious 
life. It and like communities have already quite passed 
away. I felt irresistibly impelled to give to others the 
vivid picture of my boyhood home, which still glow- 
ingly lingers within my own mind, lest in an unex- 
pected moment it should perish forever. 

So I have as faithfully as possible transferred that 
picture to the printed page. I have tried to present 
every phase of the life of that primitive country neigh- 
borhood, all of its industrial, intellectual, social, polit- 
ical, and religious activities ; all of its sturdy virtues, 
and, as charitably as I could, its petty faults, some of 
which were as ludicrous as they were vexatious. 

Had I the power. I would immortalize the love that 
united forever the hearts of John Erskine and Aunt 
Lucy. It shines out in every part of my story, and 



vi FOREWORD 

lights up the close of it with a more than earthly radi- 
ance. Nor should we fail to note that in neighborhoods 
like this we discover the rugged foundation virtues 
from which is derived all that is most valuable and 
stable in our national life. 

Hoping that my story may be both instructive and 
entertaining, I commit this child of my brain and 
heart to the public, whose verdict, in the long run, is 
always just. 

Galusha Anderson. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER 












PAGE 




Foreword v 


I. 


Sunrise 








1 


II. 


Prosperity and Drawbacks 








20 


III. 


Bird's - eye View . 








32 


IV. 


Primitive Industries 








42 


V. 


Ministers and Churches . 








81 


VI. 


The Millerite Excitement 








116 


VII. 


Schools 








126 


VIII. 


Taverns and Temperance . 








151 


IX. 


Family Life .... 








1G3 


X. 


Social Life 


. 








183 


XL 


Bees . 


. 








202 


XII. 


Recreations 










213 


XIII. 


Holiday's . 


. 








235 


XIV. 


Politics 










244 


XV. 


Queer People . 










260 


XVI. 


The " Hornet " 










288 


XVII. 


Bucolic Doctors 










305 


XVIII. 


Love, Courtship and Marriage 






319 


XIX. 


Sunset 


. . . 








335 




When Neighbors were Neighbors 



CHAPTER I 



SUNRISE 



In the first quarter of the nineteenth century, in a 
new and straggling village of what was then regarded 
the far west, although it was east of Lake Erie, there 
lived a sturdy young man by the name of John Erskine. 
His health was perfect. He stood full six feet in his 
stockings, was broad-shouldered, with muscles like 
iron. His great frame was compact and symmetrical, 

1 



2 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

his under jaw square and strong, his hps straight and 
firmly set, his hair coarse and black, and from under 
his heavy eyebrows gleamed small, bluish-hazel eyes. 

Of the pioneer community to which he belonged, he 
was one of the most energetic and enterprising. He 
was able and ready to do whatever was demanded. 
His ringing ax drove back the primeval forest. He 
plowed and planted, and reaped the abundant harvests 
that grew from the virgin soil. He split rails, made 
fences, laid stone walls, dug and stoned wells and built 
log houses. 

But while he worked incessantly, he accumulated 
little or no property for himself. He was one of nine 
children. His father, a sort of happy-go-lucky Scotch- 
man, a Presbyterian elder, a justice of the peace and 
a cobbler, needed what his children could earn to meet 
the multiplying necessities of his numerous family. 
Still, John did not rebel against his lot. Endowed 
with large benevolence, the service that he rendered 
his father's household was always free and hearty. 

United with his benevolence was unflinching cour- 
age. No difficulties daunted him. no dangers terrified 
him. While he feared God, he never feared the face 
of clay. Near the close of the Avar of 1812, just as 
soon as his age permitted, he enlisted as a private in 
the army, marched Avith his regiment to RuflFalo, but 
before he had been under fire in the field, peace was 
declared. He laid down his flint-lock musket with deep 



SUNRISE 3 

regret that he had been denied the privilege of taking 
part in at least one pitched battle. 

In enduring the manifold hardships of a frontier 
life he was greatly helped by his abundant humor. 
This he seemed to have inherited from his father. He 
saw the ludicrous side of the most adverse circum- 
stances. While naturally sedate, some humorous sug- 
gestion would call forth his hearty laughter. In later 
life his reminiscences were largely of the humorous 
incidents and situations that had been woven into his 
experience, and he so portrayed them that all who 
heard shared in his contagious mirth. 

His educational advantages were very poor. He had 
the privilege of spending only a few weeks in the 
school of his pioneer settlement. The elementary 
books studied were crude and the teacher was still 
cruder. He did however, in school and out — chiefly 
out — learn to read and write, to add, subtract, mul- 
tiply and divide. During his whole life he read but a 
very few books. Among his favorites were the Bible 
and Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. He at times dipped 
into Josephus and the State statutes. He read, not 
very diligently, a weekly religious, and a weekly polit- 
ical paper. But scant as his education was he spoke 
his mother tongue, with the exception of a very few 
words and phrases, quite correctly. In fact, in the best 
sense he was an educated man. He thought consecu- 
tively and expressed his thought clearly. But his dis- 



4 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

cipline of mind was acquired in mastering the things 
that he was called upon to do, rather than in learning 
the contents of books. 

Feeling his deficiencies, he was unusually modest. 
He often deprecated his lack of ability and knowledge. 
Over and over again he said, and meant every word 
of it, "I never knew much." Unused to society, he 
was awkward, bashful and reticent when by chance 
he found himself drawn into some social gathering. 
While he had native talent, which, under more favor- 
able circumstances, would have enabled him success- 
fully to command an army, or adorn a judgeship, he 
shrank from the society of his peers, and when thrown 
among them was usually only a silent listener ; but that 
in intellectual insight and grasp he was at least their 
equal was evident from his just and lucid criticism 
of their views, when without restraint he conversed 
with those whom he loved under his ow-n roof. 

Now there came into the pioneer village, where 
John Erskine lived, an attractive and efficient young 
woman by the name of Lucy Webster. She like John 
was ready for any service at home, and also often took 
responsible positions in the households of her neigh- 
bors. She was expert in all kinds of housework. She 
washed, cooked, baked, spun and wove, and whatever 
she did was thoroughly and neatly done. Her educa- 
tion in books like John's was meagre, but she was more 
self-confident and self-assertive than he. Without con- 



SUNRISE . 5 

ceit, she was conscious of her own power, and so felt 
quite at home in any society. Easy and graceful in 
manner, she became the favorite of the village. 

She and the bashful John chanced for a few weeks 
to be serving the same family ; he in work on the 
farm, she in the house. During the day they occa- 
sionally met, and at meal-time sat at the same table. 
Though embarrassed he always greeted her with gen- 
uine courtesy, for deep down in his heart he was a 
true gentleman. Her winsomeness somehow caught 
his eye and touched his heart. He said but little, but 
she chatted freely while he listened with feelings which 
to him were altogether strange. He grew unusually 
self-conscious ; he keenly felt his awkwardness ; he 
hardly knew what to do with his hands and feet, and 
when he spoke he scarcely appreciated what he was 
saying. To him the meals became a fascinating or- 
deal. He came to them with misgiving, but he would 
not have missed them for the world. What the spell 
was which had fallen upon him he did not yet know. 
She had observed his coyness and embarrassment 
whenever they met, and understood it. 

An incident connected with her service now revealed 
to John for the first time her native shrewdness, tact 
and hatred of injustice, and awoke within him the most 
ardent admiration for her. Their employer was a 
slaveholder. The gradual emancipation act of the 
State had left him still one poor negro slave. When 



6 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

in a passion, as he often was, he was bitterly cruel to 
his helpless chattel, whipping him with a large raw- 
hide till his back was welted and bleeding. The suf- 
fering slave told Lucy Webster his doleful tale. She 
at once said, " When you get the wood ready for heat- 
ing the brick oven, put the rawhide with it and your 
master will never get hold of it again." " But," said 
the darky, " I'se 'fraid he'll kill me." But she said, 
" You needn't be afraid ; I'll stand between you and all 
harm." So on baking day that dreaded whip went ifp 
in flame and smoke. Soon after the master in hot 
wrath, wishing to castigate his black slave, fussing and 
fuming, looked in vain for his cruel whip. In his long 
search, his anger gradually cooling, he left Sambo un- 
chastised. Lucy and John knew and kept the secret 
and rejoiced together over at least the temporary 
defeat of oppression. 

Weeks passed by. John Erskine had at last found 
out what ailed him. He loved Lucy Webster and 
lonsred to tell her so. Still he feared that that might 
be presumption, so he kept what he thought to be a 
secret locked up in his heart. He lay awake nights 
and thought about her, and when through sheer weari- 
ness he fell asleep she illumined his dreams. Every 
time he saw her the fire in his heart became hotter. 
One evening, when their day's toil was over, they met, 
as if by chance, under some locust trees near the house. 
The air was deliciouslv cool, the heavens were cloud- 



SUNRISE 7 

less, and the full moon shone brightly. They talked 
of what they had been doing, and spoke of the village 
gossip. To converse with each other even about such 
commonplace things gave them unwonted pleasure ; 
still it fell far short of satisfying the deep craving of 
their hearts. It was growing late. Their conversation 
must soon end. The earnest, hesitating John, sum- 
moning all the powers of his will, by a tremendous 
effort, declared to Lucy his tender passion. But this 
did not surprise her ; for weeks she had been hoping 
and expecting that he would make this confession. 
She was no flirt ; but sincere and straightforward in 
every fibre of her being. So at once she frankly made 
known her love for him. 

Their love now projected itself upon every object 
around them. The moon never before looked half so 
beautiful and the leaves of the trees took on a brighter 
sheen. They were in paradise, for true love is para- 
dise. Their lips somehow came together ; it ,was the 
spontaneous seal of their mutual confession. There 
was one warm embrace and then softly spoken came 
the reluctant good night. 

Two more souls had been united and forevermore 
were one. How hearts are blended God only knows ; 
it is a secret beyond the ken of mortals. But the joy 
that flows from it is by far the most exquisite that 
earth can yield. And these two lovers on that night 
could not for a time from very gladness sleep, and 



8 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

when at last soothing slumber softly shut the doors of 
sense upon the outer world, they sank into elysium. 
When they awoke to the duties of the next day, they 
found their toil lightened and sweetened by a new and 
mighty motive. Old things had passed away, behold 
all things had become new. 

But who was Lucy Webster? Her father was of 
English, her mother of Dutch, descent. She was one 
of fourteen children, thirteen of whom grew uj) to 
manhood and womanhood and had households of their 
own. In the round of the years she had more than 
fourscore nephews and nieces. There was no race 
suicide then. Her father, a man of wonderful vitality 
and exhaustless energy, was a blacksmith, wagon- 
maker and farmer. Her mother was his equal in 
strength and resourcefulness. Both were Christians 
of the downright sturdy sort, who always advocated 
righteousness and scrupulously practised it. 

Whep the oldest daughter, Lucy, fell in love with 
John Erskine and was betrothed to him. she was only 
eighteen years old. She was five feet seven inches 
tall, plump and strong, well proportioned, her neck 
rather too short for ideal beauty, nose somewhat prom- 
inent with its lines sharply cut, red lips firmly closed, 
a high forehead, soft, silken black hair and full black 
eves. If she could not be called a beauty, she was so 
sprightlv and graceful in movement, so sensible and 
vivacious in conversation, that she was a universal 



SUNRISE 9 

favorite. And when the people of the village learned 
of her engagement, many wondered that she should 
have fallen in love with that bashful, awkward John 
Erskine, who was eight years her senior ; but she was 
able to look beneath the surface, and discern his rare 
nobility of character ; and she had made no mis- 
take. 

After mating came nesting. John had always in- 
tended to be a farmer. He had heard of land many 
miles away that could be bought on credit. Thither, 
ax in hand, he went on foot. Walking was easy since 
his feet were winged by love. As he trod the rough 
paths, blazed through the primeval forest, he thought 
of Lucy, now the mistress of his heart, and in imagina- 
tion painted over and over again the place where they 
should live. He selected a farm covered with a great 
forest of beech and maple, basswood, ash and elm. 
He bought with merely a promise to pay one hundred 
acres. It was a brave act. All that he had in the 
world was two young steers, a yoke, a log-chain, an 
ax, and two dollars in money. To clear away the giant 
trees and coax the virgin soil to pay for itself and also 
support his anticipated family was a task before which 
the stoutest heart might have quailed. But he faced 
these formidable obstacles without a tremor. Not 
even a suggestion that he might fail entered his mind. 
His natural fearlessness reenforced by his new love 
made him invincible. 



10 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

He felled the trees on the spot chosen for his future 
home, dug a cellar, built a comfortable log house of 
three rooms and an attic with a great open fireplace, 
dug and stoned a well, and cleared the forest from 
three adjacent acres of ground, one of which he 
plowed and sowed to winter wheat, reserving the other 
two for planting in the following spring. And while 
he accomplished all this single-handed and alone, he 
did odd jobs for some neighbors a mile or more away 
to pay for his lodging and meals. He had no luxuries ; 
his fare was of the plainest ; he lived perforce the 
simple life. But his coarse food and hard work were 
a genuine joy, since every stroke of his ax and every 
burden borne was for the bright-eyed, sensible girl in 
the pioneer village miles away. 

Two or three times during that summer of heroic 
toil, on Saturdays he excused himself to those that 
lodged and fed him, saying that he should not be back 
till Monday, since he had urgent business at home. 
With what an easy, elastic step he walked those long 
miles through the woods ! The anticipated meeting at 
the end of his journey well nigh annihilated time and 
distance. We need not peep behind the curtain. 
Everybody knows what happened when he arrived. 
But late in the autumn he came home to spend the 
winter. He did such work as came to his hand, and 
was constantly busy. He and his betrothed often spent 
the long evenings together. The winter quickly glided 



SUNRISE 11 

away. The months " seemed unto him but a few days 
for the love he had to her." 

In the meantime Lucy Webster was dihgently get- 
ting ready for the happy event so nearly at hand ; pro- 
viding such clothing for herself and furnishings for 
her forest home as the limited means at her command 
would permit. She could have neither silks, nor satins, 
nor laces, yet even such attire never graced a lovelier 
girl. If she had had them in profusion, they could 
have added little to her charms and nothing to her 
worth. Besides two or three plain but neat dresses, 
a few sheets and pillow-cases, a half dozen blankets 
and bedquilts and a great, luscious feather-bed were 
in process of making. Then, in the most meagrely 
furnished homes, the fathomless feather-bed was re- 
garded a prime necessity, though now, except in some 
back towns, it is quite discarded. 

At last the wedding day dawned. The nuptials were 
celebrated in the evening under the roof of the bride's 
father. He lived in a roomy log house. Being a popu- 
lar man and widely known, and the bride and groom 
being general favorites, hosts of friends longed to 
attend the wedding, and more were generously invited 
than could comfortably get within doors. The be- 
trothed couple were plainly but tastefully dressed. 
There were however no frills either in costume or 
ceremony. The bashful groom was self-conscious and 
embarrassed, but the self-possession and ease of the 



12 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

bride helped him pass the ordeal creditably. Some of 
the young people present, having- observed his evident 
confusion, told him that it was quite excusable, since 
never having been married before, he had not quite got 
the hang of it. 

When the newly married pair had received the con- 
gratulations of their numerous friends the wedding 
feast was spread. The beverages were water, tea, 
coffee and cider. Some of the guests were disap- 
pointed that there was nothing stronger ; but John 
Erskine, though living in a community of hard 
drinkers, was a total abstainer, and Mr. Webster, 
thinking that his new son-in-law was about right, had 
furnished the feast to his liking. As to edibles, the 
tables were loaded with all that the new settlement 
afforded, roast pig, luscious chicken pie. venison and 
wild turkey ; bread and butter, cheese, doughnuts and 
great frosted cakes stuffed with raisins. There was 
more than enough for all, and the good cheer con- 
tinued till ten o'clock or later ; but by eleven all the 
guests were gone. The happy couple spent the first 
nicfht of their married life at home in the room set 
apart to the use of visitors. 

The next day they took their wedding trip. At four 
o'clock in the morning they were astir. They break- 
fasted at the gray dawn. And then — O ye who ride 
over paved roads in carriages trimmed with broadcloth 
and silk, and drawn by ])rancing steeds, or in hixuri- 



SUNRISE 13 

ous automobiles and Pullman cars, look upon this 
scene of bygone days — and then a great two-wheeled 
ox-cart, drawn by slow-footed Buck and Bright, was 
backed up to the door ; and in it were soon placed a 
hair-covered trunk and boxes filled with clothing, bed 
and table linen, blankets and bedquilts, steel table 
knives, two-tined table forks, and a few spoons of 
solid silver. To these were added some dishes of 
earthen ware and tin, some kitchen utensils, wooden 
pails, washtubs, kettles, a wrought iron spider, and a 
Dutch tin bake-oven. Then the bride brought to the 
cart a flax-wheel, made seventy-five years before, a 
present from one of her aunts. It now adorns the 
parlor of one of her sons. When it had been care- 
fully stowed away, John slipped in some iron wedges, 
presented to him by his father-in-law, an iron-bound 
beetle, two hickory ax-helves and a log-chain. On the 
top of the whole was laid a bedstead tied on securely 
with a long cord. At the front was a narrow board 
seat for the bride and bridegroom, over which Mrs. 
Webster had thoughtfully thrown a plaid shawl. Now 
came the adieus. Of course all were happy, but when 
the father and mother kissed their departing daughter 
tell-tale tears, even w^hile they spoke words of cheer, 
somehow stole down their cheeks, and some glistening 
drops furtively slipped from Lucy's eyelids as if in 
contradiction of her fun and frolic. Both the smiles 
and tears were true exponents of their feelings. Sad- 



14 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ness and joy were contending with each other, but 
joy won, Lucy with the spring of a cat chmbed 
to the seat in the cart, while John slower in move- 
ment took his place beside her. " Good-by ! " 
" God bless you ! " was mutually spoken, hands 
waved parting salutes and that unique wedding tour 
began. 

John Erskine was now supremely happy. He had 
won for his bride the brightest and most winsome girl 
in that pioneer village. He sat beside her in an ox- 
cart, driving on toward their new home. The oxen 
and cart were all his own. By his industry during the 
winter he had added the cart to his possessions. It 
was brand-new and filled with the dowry of his bride. 
This was its pristine service. Did a cart ever receive 
a more sacred and romantic dedication? Bride and 
bridegroom, jolting over the new and rough road, were 
in the third heaven. Everything around them reflected 
and enhanced their 1)liss. It was early spring. The 
forests through which they slowly rode — and they 
did not wish greater speed — were bursting into leaf. 
Here and there they saw the dogwood starred over 
with blossoms. The mated yellow birds, bluebirds, and 
robins filled the wood with their sweet, passionate 
songs. Wild flowers were peeping out from their win- 
try beds. The bride, ravished by their loveliness, 
pointed them out to her husband and descanted on their 
fresh beauty. While with her he delighted in the 



SUNRISE 15 

birds and flowers, still to him her face and voice 
were lovelier than they. So, enchanted by what 
they saw and heard, and filled with the deep satis- 
faction that flowed from their mutual love, their 
bridal tour in an ox-cart was well nigh a delirium of 
joy. 

But this could not last forever. Late in the after- 
noon they arrived at the log house that the bridegroom 
had prepared for his bride. It was in a dense forest. 
While the bride now saw it for the first time, from her 
lover's description of it she had often painted it in her 
imagination. On seeing it she felt no disappointment ; 
it was even better than she had anticipated. And John 
had for her some little surprises. He had never told 
her that he had built for his oxen a good log barn a 
few rods from the house and had put into it sufficient 
hay and provender for immediate use. So when the 
cart was backed up to the door of the house the tired 
oxen were unyoked and fed in the new bam. Then 
together bride and bridegroom looked over the house; 
she admired it and, to the joy of John's heart, praised 
the skill and thoroughness of its construction. She was 
specially pleased with the great, open fireplace with 
its huge iron crane. This crane had been made at a 
blacksmith shop about two miles away and John had 
brought it to his new home on his shoulder. Wood, 
which he had thoughtfully brought in last fall, now 
well seasoned, lay near by in the corner. The house 



16 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

needed to be warmed and dried out, so he proceeded 
to make a fire. As matches had not tlicn been invented, 
he took a small bunch of tow, a tlint and a piece of 
steel, and striking the flint with the steel, a result- 
ant spark ignited the tow, which in turn set fire 
to the kindling wootl. Abundant dry beech and 
maple was laid on the great andirons and the hot 
flames were soon leajiing and roaring up the wide- 
throated chinmey. And this was their only house- 
warming. 

The cart was now unloaded. The articles brought 
for housekeeping were put in their appropriate places. 
The bedstead was corded — there were no bed-springs 
then. The tick, which has now been replaced by the 
moss or hair mattress, was stuffed with oat-straw, 
which John by his kind forethought had provided 
months before. Such unexpected previsions added 
much to the bride's happiness. The feather-bed sur- 
mounted the newly stuffed straw tick ; on it were 
spread immaculate linen sheets and a handsome bed- 
quilt ; the pillows were soon in place and the marriage 
bed was ready. 

Kitchen and dining room were one. In it they stood 
the plain basswood table on which they put the food- 
left over from the wedding-feast and thoughtfully sent 
along in the cart by Mrs. Webster. The teakettle was 
hung on the crane over the blazing fire, and while they 
waited for it to boil, just as the glowing sunset lighted 



SUNRISE 17 

up with its splendors the great forest of beech and 
maple, they walked out to view the surroundings of 
their humble home. At the first glance the bride had 
another pleasant surprise. To the left of the house 
was an oven, built of stone and brick, large enough to 
bake bread, and pies and puddings for a numerous 
family. The bride had often used such an oven in the 
village that she had just left and was happy now in 
the consciousness that this one was her own. John 
now showed her the ground staked out for a vegetable 
garden and an orchard, and the acre of wheat that he 
sowed in the autumn. It was green and growing and 
had in it the promise of an abundant harvest. As they 
returned to the house the singing teakettle began to 
boil, the pot of tea was soon ready and with glad hearts 
they sat down to eat their first meal under their own 
roof. 

All of English or Scotch descent rejoice in being the 
possessors of houses and lands. They are never quite 
happy till they own in fee simple estates large or small. 
Oh the solid comfort a man has in sitting under his 
own roof, by his own fire and putting his feet under 
his own table ! This consciousness of ownership en- 
hanced the joy of the bride and groom as in their new 
house they ate together for the first time. It was the 
crown of all the exquisite pleasures of the day. 

These brave, sturdy pioneers in that dense forest 
were almost as much alone as were Adam and Eve ; 



18 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

but they did not feel this isolation. Their mutual love 
banished loneliness. Full of hope and gladness, they 
gave themselves to their daily duties. At the early 
dawn John's ax woke the echoes of the woods, while 
Lucy with equal zeal did the work of the house. 
Neither for a moment doubted that by their united 
efforts they should be able at last to pay for their farm. 
So they made a garden, and set out apple, peach and 
plum trees, quince, gooseberry and currant bushes. 
The productiveness of the soil, enriched for unnum- 
bered years by leaf-mold, was simply marvelous. The 
garden produced abundantly, and John's acre of wheat 
yielded almost fifty bushels. What he did not need 
for his own use he sold. The money that it brought 
him gave him increased assurance that his farm in 
due time would pay for itself. Still he knew that to 
attain this, incessant hard work would be required ; 
so with amazing push, without any help from others, 
he added, during the first year of his married life, ten 
more acres to his clearing. 

A swarm of bees from a great hollow limb of a 
towering basswood lighted on a low bush near John's 
door. He made for it a rude but capacious hive, into 
which he allured the bees. While he toiled they gath- 
ered honey for him and for his bride. So the bees of 
the wood became their helpers. 

Finally, to the unbounded gratification of husband 
and wife, just before they reached their first wedding 



SUNRISE 19 

anniversary, a daughter appeared under their humble 
roof. Never was a babe more welcome. She was a 
priceless gift from God and they hailed her as the 
crowning joy of that happy year. 



v_ 




-^<^ 



CHAPTER II 



PROSPERITY AND DRAWP.ACKS 



As the years rolled by John Erskine prospered. He 
cut the forest from four fifths of his farm and divided 
what was cleared into lots of a few acres each. These 
small fields he carefully cultivated. By a rotation of 
crops and frequently ]:)lowing- under luxuriant growths 
of clover he kept up the fertility of the soil. No har- 
vests in the ncit^^hborhood were more abundant than 
his. He often had from two to three tons of clover 
and timothy to the acre and forty to sixty bushels of 
wheat, and other crops in proportion. His sheep and 
swine and cattle multiplied. He paid for his farm, 
abandoned his log house, built a capacious frame house 

20 



PROSPERITY AND DRAWBACKS 21 

and a great barn, which, when crammed from founda- 
tion to ridgepole, was often too strait to receive his 
great harvests, so that at times he was compelled to 
stack in the field some of his hay and unthrashed grain. 

To be sure there were some years when his crops 
were cut short by frosts or drought. Once when the 
early rains had not fallen and the grass of his meadow 
was short, thin and wiry, I met him as he was raking 
up by hand his meagre harvest — there were no horse- 
rakes then. When he had raked along to the end of 
the field, he said to me, " This hay is like self- 
righteousness, the more you have of it, the worse you 
are off." Thus in a single sentence he preached a ser- 
mon of mighty import that I could never forget. 

In 1836 there was a cold summer. Every month 
there was frost. Corn and all the more tender 
plants were either greatly damaged or killed outright. 
John Erskine, still considerably in debt for his farm, 
was unusually sober and silent. Like many of his 
neighbors, he could not clearly see his way. Pay-day 
was coming and how with' an empty barn and granary 
and corn-crib could he meet its just demands? But at 
times he heartily enjoyed the humor of the strange 
situation. The hogs having no corn, nor little of any- 
thing else to eat, were very poor. A wag said, " They 
are so thin that you can read Watts' psalms through 
them." Another remarked : " Over in our end of the 
neighborhood they are so lean that we have to buy 



22 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

salt codfish to fry the pork in." Still another declared : 
" Our pigs are so thin and slender that we have to tie 
knots in their tails to keep them from slipping through 
the fence." Such preposterous exaggeration provoked 
mirth, relieved the mental strain and helped to tide 
over the general disaster. The universal suffering 
made creditors considerate, and honest John found his 
creditor ready to accommodate him. So his craft 
weathered the financial storm and finally with flying 
colors sailed triumphantly into port. 

But John Erskine's family grew in number as the 
products of his farm multiplied. Within eleven years 
from the time that he and his bride moved into their 
new log house they were blessed with eight children, 
three sons and five daughters. These children were 
noted for their upright lives and stainless characters ; 
there was not a black sheep among them. Some of 
them, together with their children, have been emi- 
nent in military and civic life. Families like this are 
the backbone and hope of our nation. 

Now, thrifty John Erskine might have become rich 
in money as well as in children had it not been for cer- 
tain defects in his make-up, some of which were akin 
to virtues. When in debt he was as uneasy as a fish 
out of water till his creditor was paid, and it was his 
invariable rule to pay promptly just according to the 
contract, and if possible to anticipate the time of pay- 
ment by three or four days. But when all indebtedness 



PROSPERITY AND DRAWBACKS 23 

for his farm and buildings was canceled, and he owed 
nothing to any living soul, he continued to make 
money. But just here, from a business point of view, 
he failed. It apparently never occurred to him to in- 
vest his funds. He did, to be sure, freely put his gains 
into such fertilizers and agricultural implements as he 
thought necessary to make his farm most highly pro- 
ductive, and he also amply provided what was required 
for the comfort of his wife and children, but, unlike 
some of his neighbors, he never shaved a note, nor 
loaned money that was secured by mortgages on real 
estate ; in fact he never made a money investment of 
any kind whatever. 

Still, he never hoarded money. He had an open 
heart and an open hand. He contributed liberally to 
sustain the churches and schools of the neighborhood, 
and was always giving to the poor. Here is a speci- 
men of his benevolence. He would say to one of his 
sons, " Yesterday, when I passed Mrs. James's house, 
I saw that she was out of wood. I want you to harness 
the horses and draw her a load of beech and maple and 
throw it into her yard. If she asks you about it, just 
say that I told you to do it." Thus quietly and un- 
ostentatiously he met the wants of the needy about him. 

A poor woman, who wove to support herself and 
family, wished to buy wheat of him to be ground into 
flour for the use of her household. In vain he insisted 
on giving it to her ; but when he saw that to refuse her 



24 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

request would make her unhappy, he filled a bag with 
the wheat, shaking down the measure and heaping it 
u{). Some months after she came again for wheat, 
naively saying, " Your wheat goes further than any 
one else's," not knowing that he had delivered to her 
nearly a third more than she had bought. 

But his cash was diminished not only by such praise- 
worthy benevolence, but also at times by his incautious 
agreements. His cardinal moral exhortation was, 
" Keep your promises." One of his grandsons paid 
him a visit. When the boy returned home, his father 
asked him, " WHiat did your grandfather say to you? " 
He replied, " He didn't talk much with me, but when I 
bade him good-by he said. ' My son, always keep your 
promises, if it takes a right arm.' " And he illustrated 
and enforced his teaching by always keeping his, al- 
though some of them, rashly made, were hard to keep. 
But like the righteous man portrayed by David in the 
fifteenth psalm, when John Erskine " sw'ore to his own 
hurt he changed not;" he never modified nor backed 
out from even a verbal contract because it would cost 
him more than he had expected to fulfil it. 

When he had gotten his farm into ]:)rime condition, 
he made the raising of seed-wheat a specialty. In this 
he had marked success. His wheat became famous in 
all the ctnintry round about. Sometimes, before his 
crop was rijie, farmers contracted for so nnich of it as 
thev needed to sow their fields. A few miles away 



PROSPERITY AND DRAWBACKS 25 

lived a godless landowner, who, measuring everybody 
in his own peck measure, did not believe there were 
any honest men. To him Erskine promised to sell after 
harvest forty bushels of seed-wheat for a dollar a 
bushel. The agreement was not put into writing, it 
was merely spoken to the ear, it was only breath. 
There was abundant opportunity for a tricky man to 
get out of it. The motive to repudiate was strong, 
such as a close-listed, covetous soul could hardly have 
withstood. Before wheat harvest was over wheat was 
readily selling for a dollar and a half, and seed-wheat 
of a superior quality could not be bought for less than 
a dollar and seventy-five cents. But did Erskine go 
back on his merely verbal bargain ? His wheat was 
ready for delivery. The man who maintained that all 
men were dishonest was driving along the road with 
empty wagon on his way to John Erskine's wheat- 
barn. He met one of Erskine's near neighbors, and 
stopped for a few minutes' chat, during which he said : 
" Erskine promised before harvest to sell me forty 
bushels of his seed-wheat for a dollar a bushel, but of 
course he won't do it ; wheat is up to a dollar fifty 
and his wheat is worth even more than that." But the 
man with whom he was talking asked : " Did Erskine 
really say that he would sell you that wheat for a 
dollar? " " He certainly did." was the emphatic reply. 
" Well, then he will do it," said John's neighbor. To 
this came the response: "I don't believe it. All men 



26 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

are dishonest, and Erskine will never fulfil a mere 
verbal agreement, when by so doing he will lose 
money." But John's neighbor, persisting in his view, 
said, " On your way back tell me how it came out." 

The purchaser was soon at Erskine's barn, where 
he was courteously received, though but few words 
were spoken. John had neither time nor ability for 
palaver. In a kindly tone he said, " Your wheat is 
ready," and helped the buyer load it upon his wagon. 
When this was done the purchaser asked : " How much 
shall I pay you ? " Erskine in an unmistakable tone 
of indignation, deeply feeling his honor assailed, re- 
plied : " Did I not say that I would sell it to you for a 
dollar a bushel ? " and the shameless buyer, handing 
honest John forty dollars, drove away. Without a 
syllable of apology he permitted Erskine to carry out 
his verbal, incautious contract to his pecuniary damage. 
But " business is business." Still, the purchaser lost 
infinitely more than he gained. He kept in his pocket 
about thirty dollars that, by his own acknowledgment, 
belonged to his neighbor, and by so doing lost in char- 
acter more than any human intellect can weigh or 
measure. While Erskine lacked about thirty dollars 
that in justice should have been in his pocket, his en- 
richment of soul, that came from uncomplainingly 
carrying out his foolish agreement, was immeasur- 
able. One gained in pocket but lost in soul, the other 
lost in pocket but gained in soul. Which gained the 



PROSPERITY AND DRAWBACKS 27 

more? But on his return, the purchaser to his credit 
frankly said to John's neighbor, with whom he had 
conversed an hour before, " Erskine kept his word; I 
give it up, there is one honest man." 

But John Erskine had another ingrained weakness, 
a weakness that eUcits admiration^ though more than 
once it cost him dearly. He never could believe that 
anybody was dishonest and untrustworthy till he was 
compelled to by some bitter experience. Against the 
earnest protest of his most intimate and valued friends 
he trusted in money transactions those that were ut- 
terly unreliable and of course suffered loss. His 
proneness to take men at their own valuation and un- 
hesitatingly to receive their spoken word as a sufficient 
guarantee in business deals, led him at times carelessly 
to discard the passing of the necessary papers for 
safely closing up important contracts. 

When he had reached the full flower of his manhood 
he enlarged his farm by purchasing an adjoining field 
of forty acres. On half of it was a growing crop of 
wheat, which he bought for two hundred and seventy- 
five dollars, and when he had harvested it he paid for 
it. He purchased both the land and wheat of a widow. 
Of course the bereaved woman, whom he had long 
known, would never do him any wrong. He had such 
unbounded confidence in her that, when he paid her 
for the wheat, it never occurred to him to take a receipt 
for his money. The mourning widow did not fail to 



28 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

note his neglect. A year passed by when she demanded 
the money for the wheat. Honest John told her that 
he had paid her for it more than twelve months ago, 
and clearly stated all the circumstances of the payment. 
To his astonishment she was unable to recall the trans- 
action or any of the circumstances pertaining to it. 
He returned to his house quite broken up over his dis- 
appointing interview with the forlorn but wily widow. 
He now felt quite sure that she had given him a receipt 
for his money. Again and again he went carefully 
through all of his papers, but he could not find it. Con- 
scious of his absolute integrity he refused to pay her 
the second time. But as he had taken no receipt for the 
first payment the lone widow felt quite sure that legally 
he was at her mercy. Since she wanted money, she 
had neither scruple nor pity. She bemoaned herself 
as wronged and declared Erskine a heartless robber ; 
so she sued him. The suit became notorious. Not only 
the neighborhood, but the whole countryside was talk- 
ing about it. The trial came on before judge and jury. 
The case of the plaintiff was quickly presented. The 
evidence for the defendant, while wholly circumstantial, 
was strong and convincing; but he had no receipt to 
present to the court and jury, incontestably showing 
that he had paid the clamant widow. Two of the 
ablest lawyers in the county appeared for the litigants. 
The attorney for the defendant presented his case with 
clear, unanswerable logic. The judge seemed to be 



PROSPERITY AND DRAWBACKS 29 

with him, and evidently the jury was favorably im- 
pressed. But the lawyer for the plaintiff was both 
glib and eloquent of tongue. He spent but little time 
on the evidence in the case, but worked up the jury 
over the wrongs and woes of the lonely and defenseless 
widow, while he scathingly denounced the defendant as 
an unjust and heartless debtor, who was trying to rob 
her of her just dues. There were tears in his voice, 
and tears on the cheeks of some of the jury, who were 
sworn to decide the case according to the evidence. 
Then followed the impartial charge of the judge. The 
jury retired for deliberation but returned in an hour, 
having found a verdict for the disconsolate widow. 

John Erskine had sat silent and attentive during the 
trial. For the first time in his life he had heard how 
hard-hearted and unjust he was; how for the sake of 
a little money he was trying to rob a weak and defense- 
less woman. But no complaint fell from his lips. He 
promptly paid his lawyer and thanked him for his able 
efifort on his behalf. Without a murmur he met the 
costs of the suit, and borrowing the required cash paid 
the poor widow the second time for her wheat and took 
a receipt for his money. He was a sadder, but hardly 
a wiser man. And while he felt deeply the bitter wrong 
that he had suffered, no mortal ever again heard him 
refer to it. That was his way. He never cried for 
spilt milk. 

But he suffered at times not onlv from incautious 



30 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

promises and overcontidence in men, but also from the 
tenacity with which he held his opinions. When his 
mind was once fully made up he was as immovable as 
a mountain of granite. This was the Scotch of it. His 
neighbors thought that he was sometimes too " sot " 
in his ways. Such stubbornness now and then resulted 
in disaster. Bent on doing some impracticable thing, a 
sanhedrin of archangels could not dissuade him from it. 
On he would go till he ran his head against a stone wall 
ten feet high and three feet thick, was knocked over 
backward by the impact and saw in a moment myriads 
of stars. He would then pick himself up and, illumined 
by the astral light that had so suddenly flooded his 
brain, apologize to his friends for having rejected their 
counsel — he was inherently polite — and go right on 
with his work in life as though nothing had happened. 
He very much needed to heed the motto of David 
Crockett, " Be sure you are right, then go ahead." 

While this unreasoning stubbornness was not often 
in evidence, it occasionally cropped out. A friend en- 
gaged in a business enterprise, which of course was 
sure speedily to yield large returns, wished to borrow 
of him a considerable sum of money which he just then 
chanced to have in hand. The only security ofifercd 
was the enterprise itself. His wife, who excelled him 
in financial sense and insight, protested against the 
loan, saying, "John, if you put yotir money in there, 
vou'll never see it again." But he, feeling cocksure 



PROSPERITY AND DRAWBACKS 31 

that he was right, contrary to her earnest and oft- 
repeated advice, carried out his purpose. He did it out 
of the kindness of his heart, just to tide his friend 
over to prosperity and wealth. But after an heroic 
struggle, the enterprise into which he had put his cash 
failed, and his money was gone forever. He had done 
his friend no good and himself and household great 
damage. His stubbornness had emptied his purse and 
planted in his heart sharp, bitter regret that he had 
refused to listen to her whom he so tenderly loved and 
whose judgment in money matters for years had proved 
to be invariably right. 

Thinking of the financial disaster that he had un- 
wittingly brought on himself, he saw that informally 
but really he had gone surety for another ; and that he 
had taken upon himself the whole financial risk, while 
his friend had taken none. He now found that the 
Bible was against becoming surety for one's neighbor, 
and that the real philosophy of surety is : If he for 
whom you become surety succeeds, he makes all and 
you make nothing; if he loses, you lose all and he 
loses nothing. But neither Bible nor philosophy 
could save him now ; it was too late. 

But while John Erskine, like the rest of mankind, 
was not perfect, he was a good man of a high order. 
Although known to few outside of his own neighbor- 
hood, like the renowned Wellington, " He stood four- 
square to all the winds that blew." 




CHAPTER III 



BIRD S - EYE VIEW 



We must now take a bird's-eye view of the country 
neig^hborhood to which John Erskine and his young 
wife belonged. It lay somewhere between the Hudson 
and Mississippi Rivers, and the Great Lakes and Mason 
and Dixon's Line. It was about three miles square. As 
we have already incidentally suggested, it was covered 
with a forest of beech, maple, elm and basswood. It 
was however bounded on the north bv a tamarack, 
and on the south by a cypress, swamp. The surface of 
the ground was rolling. Low hills rising gently above 
the general level added much to the beauty and charm 
of the landscape. Little by little the forest was largely 

S2 



BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 33 

cleared away. Each farmer however reserved for 
timber and fuel several acres of woods, which in sum- 
mer formed a leafy background to green pastures and 
meadows and fields of golden grain. Here and there 
murmured a silvery brook the banks of which were 
fragrant with mint and through whose crystal waters 
darted hither and thither tiny fish. A larger stream 
skirted one side of the neighborhood where eager 
anglers caught bullheads and pickerel, and where Sat- 
urday nights in midsummer farmer boys, some of 
whom walked long distances to enjoy the luxury, 
bathed and swam. 

At first all the dwellings of the neighborhood were 
built of logs, but as the farmers became thrifty these 
were replaced by frame houses, cheap and plain but 
not unattractive. Most of them were painted white, 
and a few were adorned with green blinds. Some 
however were unpainted and in by-places log houses 
still lingered. 

The front yards were usually shut in by board or 
picket fences. Before the houses by the roadside were 
set hard maples and elms, which added beauty to the 
scene and in the hot days of summer cast a grateful 
shade. In the front yards bloomed lilacs, pink and 
white roses, snowballs and snow berries. There too 
the grass generally throve, the busy farmer, who then 
had never heard of a lawn-mower, cutting it with his 
scythe only once or twice during the entire season. 



34 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

Here and there by some of the houses, or in adjoining 
gardens, were hives of droning bees. By many a front 
door clambered the morning-glory and sweet-scented 
honeysuckle ; while hard by, in gardens rudely kept, 
bloomed in their season the peony, pink, sweet-william, 
marigold, bachelor's button, hollyhock and sunflower, 
while by some kitchen doors the dahlia grew thriftily 
and bore a wealth of beauty. Often in the same en- 
closure wnth the flowers, currants, melons and vege- 
tables were cultivated. There, too, was the never-fail- 
ing bed of caraway, whose aromatic seeds rendered 
more toothsome the sweet-cakes of the housewife, and 
by their pungency kept her awake in church, when 
there was not sufficient pungency in the sermon to ex- 
cite her flagging sensibility. On this account the boys 
of the neighborhood dubbed caraway seed, " wake- 
seed." 

Not far from most of the houses were prolific 
orchards of apple, cherry, peach and plum trees, which 
in time of bloom made the whole countryside glorious 
with color, and filled the air with delicious fragrance. 

The farms were small. The largest in the neighbor- 
hood did not contain more than two hundred acres, 
while the average farm had about a hundred, with only 
seventy-five or eighty under the plow. These small 
estates were cut up into lots of from five to twenty 
acres each. The fields were fenced with dry stone 
walls, or with rails, laid so that they formed a series of 



BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 35 

obtuse angles. The fence bore some resemblance to a 
serpent in motion, bending in and out, and was gen- 
erally called by the farmers a " snake-fence." 

In summer many of the small fields were covered 
with growing, maturing crops ; here was a patch of 
Indian corn ; there the ripening golden wheat rippled 
before the wind; just beyond was the meadow of 
clover with its wealth of blossoms and ravishing odor. 
On every hand there met the eye fields of oats, barley, 
peas, potatoes, and buckwheat, pastures where roamed 
small flocks of sheep and a few milch cows with dis- 
tended udders and some fatting steers. But even in its 
physical aspects the neighborhood was not a paradise ; 
some farms were slovenly kept, some fences broken 
down, some buildings dilapidated, some gates ofif their 
hinges ; filthy pig sties and dwelling houses were often 
too near each other for the highest enjoyment ; some 
flocks and herds in the midst of plenty were half-fed 
and scrawny ; but these repulsive sights were the ex- 
ception, not the rule, and even they by contrast gave a 
keener appreciation of that which was beautiful and 
attractive. 

'And each season had its own peculiar charms. In 
the autumn the forests of oak and maple were ablaze 
with crimson ; and while the fields from which the 
grain bad been reaped were bare and brown, the ever- 
cropped and ever-springing pastures were still green. 
Barns were bursting with plenty, the cut corn stood in 



36 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

shocks, while scattered over the fields among the corn- 
stubble glowed the yellow pumpkins. The corncribs 
were piled high with golden ears, stacks of hay and 
grain dotted the whole face of the country, and 
orchards bent down under their load of ripened and 
fragrant fruit. 

Then winter came with its witcheries. How delicate 
was the tracery of the tree tops seen against a clear 
sky ! How exquisitely beautiful was the mantle of 
snow that covered the fields and under the moonlight 
gleamed as if it were woven of countless myriads of 
diamonds ! The flocks and herds quit the frozen pas- 
tures and found shelter in warm well-filled barns or by 
great stacks of hay or straw. Wagons gave way to 
sleighs, and the air was filled with the music of jingling 
bells, which but faintly expressed the joy of the boys 
and girls, who, wrapped in skins and furs, rode for 
pleasure in defiance of stinging winds and biting frosts. 
The long evenings, too. brought gladness to those that 
came together in the spacious kitchens of the farm- 
houses, sat before the great open fireplaces filled with 
flaming logs, told stories, cracked nuts and jokes, ate 
luscious apples and drank sweet cider. 

Most . of the inhabitants of my country neighbor- 
hood were originally from New England. When they 
emigrated to this chosen spot in the wilderness they 
were poor in this world's goods, but intelligent, honest 
and brave. Thev came to create wealth by their un- 



BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 37 

stinted toil, to build for themselves comfortable homes, 
and train their children for God and humanity. 

In my boyhood a majority of these pioneers were 
reaching middle life. Many of their children were in 
their teens. Some that had married remained at or 
near the old homesteads, while others, with the spirit 
of enterprise that they had sucked in with their moth- 
ers' milk, had gone west. At times they returned and 
made our eyes stand out with wonder as we listened 
to their marvelous tales of the great corn and pumpkins 
that grew somewhere toward the setting sun ; but we 
regarded most of their yarns as mere moonshine. We 
were in fact a rather secluded community. We had not 
been greatly stirred by the mighty movement westward, 
and the essential character of our neighborhood, in 
spite of increasing wealth and comforts, did not change 
rapidly. 

Moreover, by force of circumstances, we were a 
somewhat exclusive set. We prided ourselves on 
being quite purely American. There was to be sure 
one negro family by the name of Johnson, that lived 
in an obscure spot, near the tamarack swamp on the 
northernmost limit of the neighborhood. When any of 
them appeared at the store or post-ofifice they were a 
genuine curiosity. At one time some youngsters poked 
fun at them on account of their black skins, when in 
rebuke John Erskine said, " Boys, you can't tell what 
a man is by the color of the house he lives in." Those 



38 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

sneering lads never forgot that. Honest John was a 
man of few words, but when he did speak he usually 
hit the bull's-eye. 

For forty years there was but one Irishman in our 
community and he was a transient. A Dutchman did 
settle on the outskirts of our territory, became a land- 
owner and an excellent citizen ; still, he was nuts for 
the boys. Some of them, living near him, declared that 
he once missed his gimlet and after spending an hour 
or more looking for it gave it up as lost ; but when he 
pulled off his boots at night he found it in one of them. 
On another day at the country store he put his watch 
in his mouth, letting the chain hang out. and bet a 
dollar that no one, taking hold of the chain, could pull 
the watch out. A young man standing by promptly 
took the bet. Grasping the chain he said to the Dutch- 
man, "Are you ready?" He answered, " Ja ; " and 
since he could not utter that Dutch affirmative without 
partially opening his mouth, the young man as the 
under jaw went down pulled out the watch and handed 
it to him amid a roar of laughter from the company 
that had gathered round. Such incidents belonged to 
our impromptu amusements. 

After a time three Englishmen appeared among us. 
Coming from the rural districts of their native land, 
they played fast and loose with the letter h, putting it 
on where there was none and taking it off where there 
was one. They put their 'ats on their 'eads. Behind 



BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 39 

their 'ouses they 'ad ha.sh barrels, and at times sold 
their hashes to the pot/iash maker. One of them made 
a hash walk in front of 'is 'ouse, and put some of 'is 
/cashes around 'is /lapple trees. All these were down- 
right good men but an unfailing source of amusement 
to the boys and girls. In a prayer and conference 
meeting one of them exhorted the young men to be- 
ware of the /jadversary of their souls. " Don't let 'im," 
he said, " get 'is nose /linto your tent, for h'li 'e gets 'is 
nose hin, 'e'll get hin 'is 'ead, and hii 'e gets hin 'is 'ead 
'e'll snuff up /tall the /jair." It was a good exhortation, 
but it had the opposite effect from what the speaker in- 
tended ; the young men burst into a laugh. How 
could they help it? And that devout Englishman 
probably thought that the /adversary was 'aving 'is 
own way. , 

But this English trio differed somewhat in dialect. 
One of them said to his fellow, " This morning I could 
'ardly get my bute on my fute ; " the other replied, 
" //it's not ' bute and fute,' /zit's but and fut. You 
should say, I could 'ardly get my but on my fut." 

We had also one Frenchman of whom later I shall 
speak more particularly; but aside from this small 
group of foreign-born citizens, who gave us a new 
social sensation, our neighborhood was genuinely 
American and for the most part Yankee. 

We were of course a community of farmers and our 
chief crop was winter wheat, which was sowed broad- 



40 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

cast and reaped with the sickle or cradle or with both. 
The first settlers of the neighborhood thrashed all their 
grain with the flail, but in my boyhood thrashing- 
machines of the crudest kind appeared to lighten our 
grinding toil. 

But in addition to wheat, the landowners, to meet 
their varied wants without being compelled to buy in 
the market, raised a variety of crops. Each farmer 
had a few acres of corn and peas on which he fatted 
his hogs ; a few acres of oats with which he fed his 
horses ; a few acres of meadow, where clover and 
timothy grew, making an abundance of sweet hay for 
his stock in winter. Each one also had his potato- 
patch in those halcyon days, when potato-bugs were 
unknown ; each his own fruit orchards. Pretty much 
everything which they ate or wore they raised or made. 
They produced their own flour, corn meal, meat, vege- 
tables, eggs, butter, cheese and fruit ; many of them 
their molasses and sugar, and not a few of them most 
of the garments which covered their backs. These 
diversified industries made these land-holders quite in- 
dependent of the whole world, and enabled them to 
pay for their farms and to accumulate wealth. 

Of course into this community of farmers came 
blacksmiths to shoe the horses and oxen, to sharpen 
the plow coulters, to set the tires of cart and wagon 
wheels, and to do any odd jobs that naturally fell to 
Vulcan ; coopers to make the apple, cider, flour, and 



BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 41 

pork barrels; carpenters and joiners to build the 
houses and barns ; and masons to lay foundation 
walls. These were the inevitable and necessary ad- 
juncts of an agricultural neighborhood. 

It remains for us to notice that in this primitive 
community laziness was at a vast discount. A sloth- 
ful man was a butt of ridicule for the whole country- 
side. A drone in a beehive found it more tolerable 
than he among these driving, thrifty toilers. 

Such is a bare outline of my country neighborhood 
in the heyday of its existence. But when John Erskine 
and his resourceful bride settled in it there were 
scarcely a dozen families within its bounds. It was 
crossed by only one wagon road, and that was but a 
poor apology for a highway ; all other roads so called 
were merely rough trails blazed through the woods. 
So John and his winsome bride were among the 
foundation stones of that rural community and while 
unpolished they were solid, seamless granite. 




CHAPTER IV 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 



It is not strange that my country neighborhood 
steadily grew rich. Everybody in it, man, woman 
and child, worked. Each had his part to perform 
and did it not as a task but as a joy. Toilers both 
in the house and in the fields often broke out into 
song. And if we now specially note the occupations 
of John Erskine and his lusty family we shall get a 
fair view of what was quite generally done on the 
farm and in the houses of the whole countryside. 

As we observed in the preceding chapter, the 
leading industry of our neighborhood was the raising 
of wheat. Now, when Erskine harvested, thrashed 

42 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 43 

and marketed his crops, he always retained in his 
bins and cribs an abundance for the use of his house- 
hold. Once in two or three months he sent a quantity 
of wheat and corn to the grist-mill to be ground. 
When his farm was only partially cleared and his 
resources were small, the grist was carried on 
horseback, the bag containing it, with an equal por- 
tion in each end, balanced across the horse ; if, how- 
ever, the grist was large, in the ox-cart ; but when John 
had become thrifty, in the lumbering two-horse wagon. 
Some younger member of the family was usually de- 
tailed for this agreeable duty. The mill was seven or 
eight miles distant. Any fairly intelligent boy could 
ride the horse, sitting just in front of the bag of grain, 
or seated in the cart, guide the slow and patient oxen, 
or in the wagon, drive the plow horses. It was in 
fact such a nice thing to get away from the farm for 
a day, to ride across the country, to greet at the mill 
other boys that had come on the same errand. The 
responsibility was not great. Since the miller received 
the grist, and took toll from it for his pay, all the boy 
had to do was to wait till his flour and meal were ready 
and then take them back home. Whenever I went to 
mill, I thought that the tired horses with me also en- 
joyed the let-up. They seemed to be half human. I 
formed a real attachment to one that I cared for and 
often rode and drove, and now in my old age I often 
think of him, and at times dream about him, and long 



44 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

to see him again. I wonder if horses are immor- 
tal? 

But I am wandering from my story. While we 
that had come from different neighborhoods waited 
for our grists, we lounged about the mill, looking with 
wonder at the whirling millstones, and at the flour that 
came spinning from the spout ; or we wandered about 
the straggling village, taking now and then a bout at 
wrestling or a hand in a ball-game. I thus made the 
acquaintance of a boy who deeply impressed me. He 
was extremely hot-tempered yet had remarkable self- 
control. This perfect balance of opposite qualities 
caught and held my attention. He was having a scuffle 
with Billy Pattison and thought that Billy didn't play 
fair. He was sissing hot with rage ; his eyes glared 
and flashed ; his fists were clenched to mete out 
vengeance, as he hissed between his chattering teeth, 
" Billy, Billy, when I get over being mad, I'll lick you 
in an inch of your life." His anger soon cooled 
and then of course he no longer wished to whip Billy. 
It was an important object-lesson. It said to me, 
" Keep control of yourself even when you are hot- 
test." 

But when John Erskine's grists had been returned 
from the mill, before the numerous mouths that 
gathered around his table could have wheat bread, 
Johnny cake and hasty pudding, much intelligent labor 
was required. Every housewife in the neighborhood 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 45 

was a baker, but none was more skillful than Aunt 
Lucy Erskine. She understood her business, knew 
just what to do and had the tact and force to do it in 
the nick of time. And while her work was manifold 
and taxing, she did not look upon it as drudgery ; it 
was all a labor of love and so a constant delight. 

When Erskine built his frame house, cooking-stoves 
were quite rare, and none had yet appeared in the 
neighborhood ; so beside his large open fireplace he 
constructed a great, brick oven. Some years afterwards, 
when cooking stoves had become common, he put a 
large one into a capacious kitchen that he had added 
to his house ; but old habits are not easily laid aside, 
so he put into his new kitchen a great fireplace, which 
was usually boarded up ; but at times it was open, and 
then beech and maple logs crackled and blazed on its 
massive andirons, just to renew for a little while the 
old life with its old comforts. Who does not love a 
hot, glowing, open wood-fire? But Erskine also built, 
again, I think through force of habit, in bis backyard, 
another large brick oven. And while Aunt Lucy or- 
dinarily baked in the oven of the cooking-stove, in the 
spring, summer and autumn, especially when great 
occasions demanded large supplies, she used the brick 
oven out in the open. 

I saw that brick oven more than once. -It rested on 
a solid stone foundation about four feet by seven. In- 
side it was five by three, two feet in height and arched 



46 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

over. Its walls, laid in mortar, were about six inches 
thick, so that when its heavy iron door was shut, all 
cold air was wholly excluded. On baking days, while 
Mrs. Erskine and her daughters were kneading the 
dough for a batch of bread, and making cakes, pud- 
dings and pies, a fire was kindled in the oven with dry 
basswood and fed with sound maple or hickory. It 
was kept briskly burning for an hour or more, till the 
oven was piping hot. Then the flaming brands and 
glowing coals were removed with a long-handled fire- 
shovel, and when the soot and ashes had been 
thoroughly brushed out, in went the pans of rising 
dough, the cakes, pies and puddings, and the iron door 
was shut. The hot oven did the rest. What light, de- 
licious loaves, what appetizing cookies, pies and pud- 
dings came out of that old oven ! And what a raft of 
them Aunt Lucy had to bake to satisfy the craving 
appetites of her robust children, and of her sisters and 
nephews and nieces that often paid her a visit of from 
one to six months. They were thrice welcome under 
her roof — the more the merrier. 

Near the last of November, when freezing weather 
set in, she made her mince pies for the winter. They 
could doubtless be counted, but I shall not attempt it. 
For two days the great brick oven to its full capacity 
received and disgorged nothing but mince pies. They 
were all carried into the meat-pantry, which John had 
built in the corner of the corn-house, piled up one upon 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 47 

another like Pelion on Ossa till they formed a square 
pie tower, and left there to freeze. Whenever one was 
wanted it was brought into the kitchen and, after 
having been thawed out and made hot in the stove oven, 
it was ready for the table. And the last pie eaten in 
March or April was as fresh and toothsome as when 
first taken from the oven. Jack Frost is a wonderful 
preserver of mince pie ! 

But the brick oven brings to mind also the tin Dutch 
oven. It was usually about three feet long, one and a 
half wide and from two to three feet high, partitioned 
ofif by horizontal slides, and open on only one side. 
When the biscuits, cakes or pies had been placed within 
it on the partition slides, it was set on the hearth with 
its open side toward the hot coals of the fireplace. 
When skilfully managed it did its work well. 

Now if we add the spit on which meat was roasted 
by being constantly turned before the open fire, the 
heating of water for tea and the boiling of vegetables 
in iron kettles, that hung from the crane over the flames 
of the fireplace, we shall have before us the way in 
which cooking was done in my country neighborhood 
in early times. 

Another industry of the neighborhood was the ma- 
king of butter and cheese both for home consumption 
and for the market. Each farmer kept several cows 
and carried on a little dairy of his own. The merging 
of individual interests was not then known. 



48 WHEN NEIGHBORS \V1':RE NEIGHBORS 

Every mechanic also kept a cow, but having no farm 
usually pastured her in the road. For most of the 
year she afforded him all the milk and butter that he 
needed. But since the cows turned unattended into the 
highway might at times wander far in their long pas- 
ture, each cow had her own peculiar bell, which re- 
vealed her whereabouts. The tinkling of the various 
bells, as the kine cropped the grass of the roadside, be- 
came a very familiar sound. I seem to hear it now 
across the interval of more than seventy years. But 
each of these bells proclaimed a diminutive dairy in the 
house of even the poorest among us. 

Moreover, every man had a pig or two, while the 
thrifty farmer had from ten to twenty. Fatting them 
on peas and corn, he transmuted the larger part of 
those crops into pork, which not only filled his own 
barrels, but the surplus sold in the market put into his 
pocket considerable needed cash. Hog-killing time 
aflForded much unwholesome excitement for the 
farmers' boys, but also a welcome transition from salt 
to fresh meat. How '" licking good " the spareribs and 
tenderloins were ! In due time the linked savory 
sausages appeared. While a gross application of Mil- 
ton's line, they seemed to us with our voracious appe- 
tites, " Linked sweetness long drawn out." 

But the season was not so pleasant for the school- 
master who boarded round. Each farmer of the school 
district had his own time for pig-sticking and invited 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 49 

the teacher just then to board with him for a few days. 
So the poor pedagogue was doomed, nolens volens, to 
eat hog's Hver most of the time from October to the 
holidays. 

Immediately after the slaughtering of the swine, the 
side-pork was cut up, packed in barrels and salted ; the 
hams, shoulders, jowls and belly-pieces were pickled 
and in due time smoked — every farmer had his smoke- 
house for curing meats; the heads, legs, feet and ears 
were made into souse ; the bristles that grew on the 
hog's spine were saved and sold to the brushmaker. 
Even in that early day, very little was allowed to go 
to waste. So the farmers were both pork-raisers and 
pork-packers. 

Their wives manufactured soap. For this purpose 
the wood-ashes were carefully saved. At the time of 
soap-making they were leached out. Ordinary apple 
barrels served as leaching tubs. Waste grease of all 
sorts that had accumulated in the farmer's house 
during the winter was put into a large iron kettle out 
in the yard, — no sensitive housewife would endure 
that fetid odor indoors, — the lye from the leaching 
ashes was poured over it, and it simmered for many 
hours over a slow fire. As by degrees the lye boiled 
down, more was added from time to time, until the al- 
kali had wholly decomposed the grease. When cooled 
it was soft soap. Pour it into the soap barrel and 
stand the well-filled barrel in the cellar. In every 



50 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

household in our neighborhood soft soap was used 
both for washing clothes and hands and faces. Why 
not? It was just as pure as hard soap. But house- 
keepers, like Aunt Lucy, kept some sweet-scented 
cakes of soap in the guest chamber for the use of 
strangers, while the family daily used home-made soft 
soap. Perhaps the difference was merely a matter of 
sentiment and taste. But to her many accomplish- 
ments Mrs. Erskine added that of soap-maker. 

But as a foil to the malodorous industry just briefly 
considered we now turn to a more agreeable occupa- 
tion. Most of the farmers had maple groves from 
which they made syrup and sugar. In March, as 
soon as the snow began to melt they tapped their trees, 
usually by boring holes into them with an inch auger. 
In these holes they inserted spiles, about eighteen 
inches in length, along the grooves of which the sap 
ran and dropped into wooden buckets. Even the spiles 
and buckets were home-made. When the sugar-maker 
gathered the sap from the buckets, he carried it in two 
pails, hung balancing each other at the ends of a 
wooden yoke, that fitted his neck and shoulders. This 
yoke he devised and made for himself. The sap Avas 
stored in one or more hogsheads, which had at first 
been brought to the country store, filled with New Or- 
leans molasses. It was then boiled down in large iron 
kettles. The whole procedure was very crude; 
modern methods of making maple sugar had not then 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 51 

been dreamed of. But primitive as the appliances 
were, the output from these sap-bushes, as the owners 
called them, was often abundant, and in quality high- 
grade. 

No one that lived in the old neighborhood can ever 
forget the jolly days when we " sugared ofif." With 
what exquisite delight we youngsters dipped the boiling 
sugar from the kettle and poured it out of our long- 
handled, iron spoons upon chunks of hard, clean snow, 
where, instantly cooling, it became a delicious wax. 
No art of the candymaker has ever produced anything 
half so toothsome. As we feasted upon it, how the 
maple grove rang with our merry shouts and irrepress- 
ible laughter! And the memory of John Erskine's 
kindness to us lingers like sunlight in our hearts. 
When we visited him on " sugaring off " days, he en- 
tered into our fun and was a boy again. He urged us 
to eat all that we could of his boiling, bubbling sugar 
syrup, and we thought him the best man on earth. 

But while the people of our country neighborhood 
drew sweets from their sugar maples, they also went 
into partnership with the bees in honey-making. They 
furnished the hives, and the bees the honey. The hive 
was just a plain, little, board house, about two feet 
square, saw-toothed at the bottom on one side to admit 
the bees, with some horizontal slats across the space 
within on which the bees built their honeycomb, and 
set on a solid foundation, slightly aslant to let the rain 



52 WHEN NKTC.ITP.ORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

run off. A heavy stone was usually laid on top of it to 
prevent its being overturned by the wind. in most 
cases it was set outdoors in the corner of the house-lot, 
or under near-by apple trees, but here and there a 
farmer placed his beehives under a shed, opening to the 
south. It was a fascinating industry, the theme of 
poets, suggesting arguments to theologians, and it was 
a satisfaction to the partner of the bees to know that 
while he toiled to win bread, they were busily gathering 
honey to spread on it. 

The held of their activity was enticing. Honey- 
laden flowers abounded. They rifled the unnumbered 
blooms of the orchard and basswoods ; the countless 
blossoms of red and white clover both in early summer 
and autumn gave up to them their treasures. The 
buckwheat also with its abundant Ijut rank sweet al- 
lured them. The busy, buzzing workers exacted toll 
from a host of other flowers too numerous to mention, 
that, before the severe frosts came, they might lay up 
the winter store both for themselves and their business 
partners. So in fall and winter, upon most of the 
tables of our community there was honey in abun- 
dance, both strained and in the comb. Nothing was 
more satisfying to our young palates than clear clover 
honey spread on light hot biscuits or pancakes. When 
that combination was set before us, we talked little but 
ate much. 

No one in the neighborhood took greater care of his 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 53 

bees than John Erskine, In seeming appreciation of 
his kindness they repaid him manifold. One incident 
in connection with them iUustrates a trait of his charac- 
ter to which we have already referred. One of the 
most slippery men in our community, Andrew Mattox, 
lived about a mile from John's door. Nobody had 
the slightest confidence in him. One day late in 
September, apparently by chance meeting Erskine 
near his house, he fell into conversation with him. 
John, proud of a hive full of honey that stood in his 
back yard, asked Mattox to come and see it, and finally 
asked him to lift it gently so as not to disturb the bees. 
As he did so he said, " There -must be a hundred 
pounds in it." " All of that," replied honest John. 
When the artful spy had gone, Aunt Lucy said to 
John, " If you expect to have any of that honey you 
better take it out of the hive and bring it into the 
house." " Why so? " he asked. " Why so ! " she re- 
plied, " that sly fox that you have been showing it to 
will make way with it after dark." Now John, verily 
believing that the man distrusted by all his neighbors 
was quite honest, said, " Oh, he won't steal any more 
than I would." The next morning the hive was gone. 
Did Aunt Lucy say, " I told you so " ? No, she was 
too true a lover for that, she simply said, " It's too 
bad." And John, usually very careful and pure in 
speech, let the lever of the balance tip just a little and 
exclaimed, " I swan ! " 



54 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

Rumor was rife that Mattox, who kept no bees, had 
a plenty of honey and was sending his nearest neigh- 
bors generous portions of it. John was strongly 
urged to take out a search warrant and if possible 
find his lost property, and, if found, to punish the 
thief. But he said, " No ; if no evidence should be 
found showing Mattox's guilt, it would be too bad to 
have disgraced him by searching his house." So 
the incident sank into sweet oblivion. Erskine often 
said, *' It is far better to suffer wrong than to do 
wrong," and he faithfully lived up to this motto. 

But at times the bees, disdaining man-made hives, 
set up business for themselves in secret places of 
their own choosing. A bee hunter found a great 
swarm of them in a huge, hollow basswood that stood 
on Erskine's farm. In such a case the finder and 
owner of the tree shared equally in the booty. John 
joined the bee hunter in cutting down this massive 
basswood, full five feet in diameter at the butt. 
When the giant fell with thundering crash, one of its 
great limbs, about two feet through, was found to be 
a mere shell in which the bees for a long time had 
deposited their gathered honey. The finder and 
owner took from it twelve pailfuls of pure honey- 
comb. Both had enough and to spare; their neigh- 
bors feasted with them on the sweet spoil. 

Fruit-growing also held an important place among 
the industries and pleasures of our neighborhood. 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 55 

All the farmers had orchards, and one vied with an- 
other in the effort to produce fruit of the highest 
quality. While they grew currants, gooseberries, 
quinces, peaches, plums, cherries and a few pears, 
apples held the chief place. Early harvest apples, 
pippins, pound-sweetings, Rhode Island greenings, 
spitzenburgs, gilliflowers, seek-no-furthers, northern 
spys, russets, and baldwins were abundant; while 
apples of an inferior sort for cider grew galore. 
There were but few grapes and strawberries, and as 
to raspberries and blackberries they grew wild in the 
corners of the snake fences, by stone walls and at 
the edges of the woods. 

The orchards in bloom were a glory and joy. The 
pink flush of the peach-trees, the commingled white 
and delicate pink of the plum, cherry and apple trees 
ravished the eyes, while the air was freighted with 
their delicious odors. Every spring, for a few days, 
the fruit trees thickly covered over with blossoms 
transformed the whole countryside into a paradise. 
And that which delighted the senses was a mute but 
exquisitely beautiful prophecy of the coming harvest. 

That prophecy rarely failed. When autumn came 
in the place of blossoms was ripe fruit. How deli- 
cate and varied were the hues of peach and apple ! 
how subtle and pleasing their fragrance ! Which 
was the more beautiful, the bloom or the fruitage? 
Who could tell? But in nature beauty and utility 



56 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

often go hand in hand. What dehghts the eye and 
satisfies the smell also ministers to the palate. So 
now from the orchards of our neighborhood hun- 
dreds upon hundreds of bushels of apples for fall 
and winter use were stored in fruit-barns and cellars. 
In all the farmhouses, for several months, apple pies, 
apple dumplings, apple puddings, fried apples, and 
apple sauce tempted the appetite, while on every 
table stood a dish or basket of apples of which any 
one at any time could partake as his desire prompted 
him. This dish of apples was usually replenished 
at the beginning of the long winter evenings ; but 
when the appetite for apples had become partially 
cloyed the family sometimes neglected to provide a 
fresh supply. 

Such neglect once evoked a peculiar and instruc- 
tive incident. One of John Erskine's grandsons 
paid him a visit. The boy lived in a big city where 
apples cost money and so were not always plentiful 
on his father's table ; but the boy's appetite for them 
was keen. One evening during his visit none had 
been brought up from the loaded bins in the cellar. 
While he longed for some he felt diffident about ask- 
ing for them. His grandfather as usual said but 
little ; the other members of the family were away 
at a social gathering. The house was very still ; the 
old clock, standing in the corner of the sitting room, 
went tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, and to poor, 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 57 

lonely George the evening seemed to be well-nigh 
unending. About eight o'clock he said, " Grandpa, 
let's have prayers." His grandfather, as if half in 
doubt, hesitatingly replied, " We don't usually have 
prayers till nine, but as you wish it we'll have them 
now." Since George was a Christian boy, his grand- 
father said : " I will read a few verses of scripture, 
and then I want you to pray." This unexpected re- 
quest pleased George immensely and he cheerily re- 
sponded, " All right." When the reading was over, 
grandfather and grandson knelt and George began 
to pray. He thanked God for all his mercies, and 
asked Him to bless grandma, mama and papa, his 
brother and little sister, his uncles and his aunts, and 
finally said, " O Lord bless grandpa and put it into 
his mind to bring up apples in the evening, and this 
I ask for Jesus' sake. Amen." 

After they rose from their knees there was a mo- 
ment's silence, and then grandpa said : " George, 
when you want apples you needn't go 'way round 
through the kingdom of heaven to get them, but 
come straight to me and ask for them." Then Mr. 
Erskine, laughing inwardly over George's prayer, 
went down cellar and brought up a tin milk-pan full 
of greenings, spitzenburgs and gilliflowers and, set- 
ting them on the table, bade his ingenious grandson 
eat to his fill. Thus the main part of the lad's 
prayer was quickly and abundantly answered. 



58 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

At the time of apple gathering, when the choicer 
varieties had been picked and carefully stored, the 
cider-apples next claimed attention. At the present 
time, everyone that raises an abundance of apples 
has his own cider-mill, but in our primitive country 
neighborhood there was only one mill, which all 
could use by paying for the privilege. And this is a 
rough sketch of it. 

There was a shed about twenty-five by one hun- 
dred feet. At one end of it was the apple-crusher. 
This crusher was simple and crude in construction. 
Two perpendicular, oak cylinders, about sixteen 
inches in diameter, stood close together. In one 
there were many mortises, on the surface of the 
other, tenons made to fit nicely into them. To one 
of them was attached a long sweep or pole, to the 
outer end of which was hitched a horse, that went 
round and round in a circle, turning the vertical 
cylinders. There was a wide, open-mouthed hopper, 
whose sides slanted down to the cylinders. Into it 
the apples were shoveled or poured. Beneath it was 
a square, water-tight receptacle to receive the 
crushed apples. The hopper was filled. Round and 
round went Jack, making the vertical cylinders re- 
volve. The tenons of the one slipped into the 
mortises of the other. The apples caught between 
them were crushed and ground to pulp, that fell into 
the vat below. 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 59 

At the other end of the shed was the cider-press. 
It, too, was a rustic affair. On a firm foundation 
there was a square oak platform, sHghtly tilted. 
Near its outer edges was a shallow gutter, along 
which ran the apple juice till it poured into a large 
wooden tub. Clean wheat or oat straw was spread 
over this platform. On the straw was placed a 
quantity of pomace or crushed apples, and the ends 
of the straw were carefully bent back over it. More 
straw was then spread upon that first layer, on that 
more apple-pulp, which was deftly folded within the 
straw. So layer upon layer was added till there was 
no room for more. On the top of it all was placed a 
heavy covering of thick plank. Above this was a 
massive beam, pierced by two iron screws about four 
feet long and five inches in diameter. The screws 
came down from the beam headfirst. Through each 
head was an eye, like the eye of a needle, into which 
were thrust wooden hand-levers, by which the screws 
were turned, pressing down with their iron pates 
more and more the pomace beneath. This screwing 
down went on till by human strength it could be 
carried no further. 

In the fall the farmers brought their apples by 
wagon-loads to this crude mill, apples sweet and sour, 
fair and gnarly, sound and rotting; for some fool- 
ishly thought that apples of any sort were good 
enough for cider. The wiser ones carefully stored 



60 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

their apples in bins to shield them from wind and 
boys, while others dumped them in great heaps on 
the ground. There were some, however, who drew 
their apples to the mill on the day when they made 
their cider, carefully culling out in their orchards all 
the unsound fruit, maintaining the self-evident propo- 
sition of John Erskine, " The sounder the apples, the 
better the cider." 

The old mill surrounded by heaps and bins and 
wagon-loads of apples of all colors and sizes attracted 
the boys as molasses does flies. The farmers took 
their turns at the mill, and someone, from early 
October to late November, was there making cider. 
How delighted we youngsters were to take a hand 
in the work, to put apples into the wide-mouthed 
hopper, to drive the toiling horse around the path 
that had no end, or help press out the luscious juice 
by turning down the iron screws upon the pomace 
with the wooden levers. Then by common consent 
we were permitted to drink our fill out of the great 
tub into which the golden stream of cider ran, or — 
and this was the climax of our fun — to suck the 
cider through straws out of the bung-holes of newly 
filled barrels. 

But aside from cider-making, it is interesting to 
notice how these pioneer farmers disposed of both 
cultivated and wild fruits. The day of canning had 
not yet dawned, but they preserved some choice 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 61 

fruits with sugar in earthen or glass jars. Such 
precious preserves were not for ordinary family use ; 
they graced the table only on extraordinary 
occasions, such as a tea party, a quilting bee, or a 
visit from relatives that lived far away. Moreover, 
they dried much of their fruit, not artificially as 
now, but by the fireplace or stove, or outdoors under 
the rays of the sun. Blackberries, raspberries, 
currants, peaches, plums, apples and often pumpkins 
were thus treated, so that the farmer and his family 
might have fruit in some form the year round. 
Dried apple pie, long a butt for cheap jokes, was 
made in the late spring, when the green apples were 
all gone, and their toothsomeness largely depended 
on the skill of the maker. Mrs. Erskine's dried 
apple pies were famous throughout the whole 
countryside. She made the crust short and flaky, 
the body thick and meaty, seasoned the apple deli- 
cately, and baked the pies to a T in her great brick 
oven. The most fastidious in taste, having once 
eaten them longed for more. The humblest kind of 
a thing may be lifted up and glorified by skill. 

In the evenings of the early autumn, when the 
supper was over, the dishes washed, and the chores 
all done, John Erskine brought into his spacious 
kitchen two or three bushels of fall apples. He and 
one of his boys, with some rude apple-paring 
machines, began to take off their skins. Mrs. 



62 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

Erskine and two of her daughters quartered and 
cored them, and tossed the quarters upon the large 
family dining table, where two of the younger chil- 
dren with long, coarse needles strung the quarters 
like beads on strong cotton strings. All worked 
busily till the evening job was done. The result of 
their united toil was a great pile of apple-quarters, 
strung like necklaces, lying on the table. Their work 
was no drudgery ; they had been but dimly 
conscious of it in the interplay of their thoughts; 
while their fingers were busy they had talked over 
the events of the day, discussed the affairs of the 
neighborhood, and dipped into State and national 
politics. 

The next morning, at the gray dawn, Aunt Lucy 
hung the strings of apples outdoors on wooden racks 
to dry. The housewives of the neighborhood had 
various methods of drying apples ; when it was 
cloudy or rainy they hung them on racks indoors or 
on poles held up by hooks in the ceilings of their 
kitchens ; sometimes they dried them, as well as other 
fruits, on boards indoors or outdoors. In autumn 
the kitchen was often a bewitching spot. There 
the family ate, except on great occasions. To sit at 
table with apples and pumpkins drying on poles 
above you, hanging in golden wreaths on racks to 
the right of you, to the left of you and in front of 
you, was such a strong reminder of the bountiful- 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 63 

ness of Providence, that those thus embowered 
could hardly fail to give thanks. 

But late in the fall, when the frosts began to nip, 
the apples stored in the fruit-barn must be made 
into sauce, before some zero blast, unexpectedly- 
sweeping down upon us from the northwest, should 
freeze them hard as pebbles. So honest John and 
his family, like most families of the neighborhood, 
gave themselves to the delightful task of sauce- 
making. In the evening he brought apples in bushel 
baskets into the wide and cheery kitchen, well 
lighted with tallow candles. Kerosene had not then 
been discovered. John and his oldest son once more 
man those primitive apple-paring machines. The 
youngest son hands them the apples from the basket, 
one by one, and they keep him busy ; the rest of the 
family quarter and core them, and throw the quar- 
ters into a large copper boiler. Near Aunt Lucy 
stands a small basket, filled with large, yellow quinces. 
Now and then she pares one of them with her 
knife, quarters and cores it, and throws the quarters 
in with the apples. She does this to give the sauce 
an alluring flavor. During the evening all of those 
quinces are mixed in with the apples. At last the 
great square boiler, often shaken down, is heaping 
full and running over. To bed now, for the day's 
work is ended ; but this task will be renewed each 
night until enough apples and quinces have been 



64 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

peeled, quartered and cored to make a barrel of 
sauce. 

On the morrow, before the crow Hies, Aunt Lucy 
has the great boiler of apples and quinces stewing 
over a slow fire. She pours over them several quarts 
of boiled cider. It was the genuine stufT. John 
raised the apples and made the cider, and she boiled 
it down. It was no chemical concoction, but nature's 
real Simon Pure. 

It was a grave responsibility to make a third of a 
barrel of apple sauce at a time. If by some over- 
sight it should be spoiled — such a large quantity 
would be spoiled ! But Aunt Lucy has not failed in 
her onerous task. The sauce is quite perfectly done. 
Taken from the fire it is left awhile to cool. The 
oak barrel, clean and sweet, stands in the pantry of 
the corn-barn, waiting to receive the precious deposit. 
The sauce might be perfect, but if the barrel were 
impure the sauce might thereby be damaged or 
ruined. Aunt Lucy has wisely seen to all that. She 
takes no foolish risks. The half-cooled but steam- 
ing sauce is now poured into the barrel. On each of 
the next two days another boiler of sauce is added. 
This was a still greater responsibility ; for if the 
third installment had not been quite right, it would 
have spoiled the whole. But the maker of the sauce 
triumphed not only once, but three times, and the 
barrel was full of appetizing sauce. 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 65 

The cold strengthens. The sauce freezes. There 
it stands, keeping company with that stack of con- 
gealed mince pies. Jack Frost, bitter though he may 
be, keeps both perfectly sweet, during all the long, 
snowy winter. When sauce was wanted, it was 
brought in from the corn-barn pantry in a large 
earthen bowl, and put into the stove oven. When 
thawed out and warmed through it was ready for 
the table. It was always good ; the remembrance of 
it even now makes the mouth water. Anyone at the 
table, who chanced to find in his portion a piece of 
quince, thought himself specially fortunate. And what 
a lot of trouble this wholesale making of apple sauce 
saved ! Apple sauce for months on tap ! This is a 
scintilla of the wisdom of the old country neighbor- 
hood ; and the making of sauce by the barrel was 
a unique industry. 

But the denizens of the neighborhood by their 
varied vocations not only filled their mouths but also 
covered their backs. They never thought of buying 
what they themselves could make. Since they lived 
where the winter was cold they must have warm 
clothing and this they manufactured in abundance 
under their own roofs. 

We have already seen that each farmer had his 
flock of sheep. They were profitable in more ways 
than one. They fertilized his fields over which they 
roamed, satisfied his appetite with wholesome food. 



66 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

by their tallow lighted his house and greased his cow- 
hide boots, and by their fleece put a golden lining in 
his pocket and shielded his body from the frosty 
blasts of the north. Late in the spring, when the 
weather had become warm, each farmer washed his 
sheep. For the boys this was always a time of rollick- 
ing fun. Coming only once a year it was out of 
the ordinary and broke up for the nonce the monot- 
ony of our life. We used to look forward to it 
with eagerness. Then, too, the neighbors often lent 
each other a helping hand. More than once I helped 
John Erskine and his boys wash his fine well-kept 
flock. Not far from his home and mine was a large 
pond, the water of which turned the great wheel of 
a sawmill. On one side of the flume was a large 
pen into which we gently drove the timid sheep. Not 
being accustomed to bathing, like some unwashed 
humans, they shrank shivering from the enforced 
plunge that awaited them. The mill-owner, who sold 
the privilege of washing sheep to anyone who cared 
to lead his flock there, lifted about two inches a plank 
in the side-casing of the flume, making a fall of pure 
water about four feet in height by ten long. We 
now in turn seized each one of the shivering flock 
and held it under the waterfall. John Erskine, who 
always believed in being thorough, saturated the wool 
of each frightened, struggling sheep with soft soap 
and then put the soaped victim under the falling 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 67 

water. It paid to do it. How we enjoyed sousing 
those silly sheep in the foaming flood ! Not knowing 
what it was all about how they struggled to free 
themselves ! After the lapse of more than six dec- 
ades I can still hear their plaintive bleating as in 
our glee we held them under the cleansing cascade, 
and the oft repeated admonition of honest John, who 
was as tender-hearted as he was thorough, " Boys, 
keep their heads above water." The work was soon 
done and we were sorry that the flock was not larger. 
We had in fact ducked every little sucking lamb just 
in sport — "just to get him used to it," we said. 
Then without change of clothing, wet as drowned 
rats, we drove the cleansed sheep slowly home ; with 
their wool heavy with water they could not be very 
fleet of foot. Did we catch cold? Never once. I 
wonder now how we could do such things with im- 
punity. 

Two weeks or more passed when the sheep were 
sheared. As this also was an annual event the young- 
sters eagerly anticipated it and greatly enjoyed it. 
To see the fleece cut off close to the sheep's hide, to 
hear the clip, clip of the shears, and the protesting 
bleat and kick of some luckless ewe when an amateur, 
bungling shearer carelessly nipped ofif a piece of her 
skin, to watch the strong wether when freed from 
his heavy coat of wool, bounding in joy from the 
shearing-floor, jumping and skipping as he went to 



68 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

his pasture, afforded us great fun. With us sheep- 
shearing day was a high day. We were always sorry 
when it was over. 

And now the wool was turned over to Aunt Lucy. 
She and her daughters with supple, willing fingers 
picked and cleansed it. When that was done it lay 
in a great snowy pile on the barn floor. Linseed oil 
was scattered over it, and then what sport they had 
as with sticks, rakestales and broom handles they 
mixed up the wool, making it fly in every jMitec- 
tion, while the rafters of the barn echoed tneir 
merry shouts and laughter. When the oil had 
been thoroughly diffused through it all, it was 
bundled up in large woolen blankets, the ends of 
which were pinned together with thorns from the 
thorn-bush. 

It was now sent to the carding-machine, which was 
driven by water and patronized by all the household 
manufacturers of our neighborhood. There it was 
carded and made into rolls. In the farm-house these 
rolls were spun into yarn on wheels turned by hand. 
We now see these wheels in museums and occasionally 
as curiosities and heirlooms in the houses of the rich. 
There were three of them in my father's house, used 
almost constantly in summer and autumn by my 
mother and sisters. The hum of those wheels now 
lingers in my ear like far-off music ; while the ability 
and skill to spin by hand thread of uniform size, and 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 69 

reel it off from the full spindle into skeins of so many 
knots, awakened my boyish wonder. 

Now, since almost all of the wool was white and 
only a few pure white garments were needed, many 
of the farmers' wives colored their yarn. They dyed 
it black, indigo blue, yellow or madder red. Then 
to their many accomplishments, they added that of 
weaving. Aunt Lucy was pre-eminent in the neigh- 
borhood both as dyer and weaver. She made a study 
of these arts, put brain into her work and gloried 
in it. In autumn she was always busy at her loom. 
Besides weaving for her numerous and growing fam- 
ily, just by way of accommodation she occasionally 
did a job of weaving for others. She was always 
accommodating somebody — that was the way she 
was made up. 

Well, what did she weave? Woolen plaid for her 
daughters' winter dresses, the colors of which were 
modest and tasteful ; even now it would be attrac- 
tive; gray cloth in which she clad her husband and 
sons. It was a mixture of black and white wool, for 
there were black sheep in John's flock. This cloth 
when woven was sent to a woolen mill to be fulled 
and dressed. When made up into garments either 
by Aunt Lucy, who at times took a hand at tailor- 
ing, or by some local tailor or house-to-house tail- 
oress, and adorned with brass buttons, the wearer 
reasonably felt proud of his suit. Such cloth in the 



70 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

shops of merchant tailors to-day would be sought for 
and would command a high price. Since it was made 
of the uncolored wools of the flock it went by the 
name of " sheep's gray " ; but a bumpkin of the neigh- 
borhood, who had a genius for blundering, to our 
great amusement always called it " sheepskin gray." 

But Aunt Lucy also wove woolen sheets and blan- 
kets, a luxury in the unheated bedchambers of farm- 
houses, with the mercury at times below zero ; also 
cloth for aprons, skirts and shawls and now and then 
a rag-carpet. So all that was of any worth in cast- 
off garments was made to cover our floors. What 
we had worn on our backs, we at last trod under our 
feet. Let no modern derisively smile, for from the 
loom of Aunt Lucy came rag-carpets that were neat 
and decorative, and once she wove a beautiful yarn 
carpet for her precious parlor, that nobody trod on 
except on great occasions. She spun and dyed the 
yarn and the finished fabric was a great triumph. 
She must have been proud of it, but nobody could 
tell from any word or act of hers whether she was 
or not; she took her triumphs simply as a matter of 
course; but just the same all the neighborhood ad- 
mired this crowning product of her skill, and John 
— well, no words could express his admiration of 
it and of her — the her with a capital H. 

But the women of the neighborhood not only wove 
but also knit. Knitting was a universal art. Every 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 71 

housewife and every girl knit. Anyone that would 
not was a lazy hussy, and anyone that could not was 
next door to a fool. Every self-respecting woman 
always had her knitting at hand. She knit as she 
talked, knit while visiting her neighbors, knit while 
she sat warming herself by the stove or the fireplace, 
knit when she was half asleep and was waked up by 
dropping a stitch, knit in the morning, knit at noon, 
knit at night, — the gentler sex of the whole country- 
side knit, knit, knit ; knit stockings for themselves 
and socks for the men-folk ; knit white stockings, and 
gray socks with blue toes, blue socks with red toes, 
and for variety pied socks or ring-streaked and 
speckled ; knit mittens so comfortable on frosty days, 
mittens white, mittens gray, mittens blue or blue 
striped with white for the boys, and such pretty red 
mittens for the dear girls ; knit comforters to wrap 
around the boys' necks, white and blue shawls, tippets 
and leggings of various hues. In their unending knit- 
ting they did not forget the ministers, who, whatever 
else they lacked, were never in want of home-made 
hand and foot wear. On cold days their warm toes 
and fingers were grateful reminders of the thoughtful 
kindness of the knitters of their flocks. While a part 
of the product of the knitting needles was sold, it was 
mostly for home consumption. 

The women also manufactured linen cloth. A few 
farmers raised a half-acre or more of flax. The grow- 



72 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ing of it greatly interested me in my boyhood. It 
stood out in contrast with all the other crops in the 
vicinity. Its stalks, about two feet high, were so 
slender, graceful and wiry. In what billowy beauty 
it waved and tossed before the wind ! How inex- 
pressibly delicate was its blue bloom! I thought no 
flower equalled it in all the countryside. Then 
when the bloom was shed, the innumerable bolls 
that appeared, at first green, but when ripe, look- 
ing like an expanse of little brown skulls, all this 
remains a pleasing picture on the walls of my mem- 
ory. 

When John Erskine's flax was full-grown and began 
to take on a sombre tinge, since its stalks were valua- 
ble to the very root, he did not cut them off but pulled 
them up and spread them on the ground in the sun. 
When dry, he bound them in small bundles which 
he carried into the barn. Laying the flax on the 
floor, with his flail he thrashed out the seed. This 
he carefully winnowed and put into bags. It was 
very valuable and readily sold for a high price. The 
coveted linseed oil was made from it, and the refuse, 
after the oil had been extracted, was molded into 
oil-cake and fed to cattle and horses. But John kept 
enough of the seed for sowing, and for poultices, 
which Aunt Lucy effectively applied to wounds and 
bruises. W^ith the doctors far away, she became quite 
a skilful physician in all ordinary ailments and had 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 73 

her own remedies always at hand, among which she 
gave a high place to flaxseed. 

After thrashing out the seed John spread the flax- 
stalks in the open field and left them there to rot, 
that is, until the woody fibre, under the touches of 
sunshine and rain, became very brittle. When this 
process was complete, he once more carefully stored 
the flax in his barn. Then, when a rainy day came, 
sheltered from the storm, he dressed it. First, he 
broke it on a break which he himself had made. Its 
construction was very simple. Two oak blocks about 
three and a half feet high, eighteen inches wide and 
six thick, stood about six feet asunder, united by four 
thick strips of oak, about three inches apart, their 
upper edges sharpened, and their ends mortised into 
the upright blocks. Above these were three corres- 
ponding strips, their lower edges sharpened, and fit- 
ting loosely into the interstices between the strips 
below. The upper strips, fastened by a pin at one 
end to the stationary, and into a movable, block at the 
other, were lifted up by a strong wooden handle. 
When up, to my boyish fancy, the break looked like 
a great mouth watering for flax. And yet it seemed 
queer to me, that unlike the jaws of man or beast, 
the under jaw was stationary, while the upper moved 
up and down. Just note the break in action. Erskine 
took a great handful of flax-stalks, and, lifting the 
upper jaw, laid them across the lower, then brought 



74 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

down the upper again and again upon the flax until 
all the brittle fibre of the stalks was shivered into 
ten thousand pieces, or till, in my boyish thought, they 
were chewed up fine. 

The flax when broken was swingled. An inch and 
a half board, about five feet by one and a half stood 
perpendicularly, the lower end mortised into a solid 
pedestal, while the edges of the upper end were care- 
fully rounded and smoothed. John Erskine held in 
his left hand a bunch of the broken flax so that it 
hung over the upper end of the board ; in his right 
grasping the swingle, a wooden instrument in form 
much like a sword, but with a dull edge, he struck it 
again and again till he had separated from it every 
vestige of the wood fibre. 

Near the swingle-board was the hatchel ; it was 
just four or five rows of iron spikes of uniform length 
fastened into a wide, smooth, thick plank ; through 
these spikes John now drew the swingled flax till the 
coarser fibre, the tow, was combed out of it. He 
then doubled it up and tied a string round it. How 
flossy it was ! How soft to the touch ! He laid it, 
as though it were a precious treasure, in a large bas- 
ket. And as he had opportunity he went on break- 
ing, swingling, hatchelHng until he had gotten out of 
the flax-stalks all that was of any worth. His great 
basket had been more than once filled with those 
downy bunches of flax-fibre. But what will be done 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 75 

with that pile of tow that he has hatchelled out? 
We shall see; nothing of value wiU be permitted to 
go to waste. 

Aunt Lucy now takes possession of the tow and 
flax. She stows them in the attic of the house. The 
flax spinning-wheel, given her by her aunt and brought 
on the wedding journey to the new log house in the 
wilderness, is made ready. She sits beside it, spreads 
on the distaff a bunch of the flax, puts in place the 
band to the fly-wheel, works the treadle with her 
foot, dips her finger in a little cup of water that 
hangs near the distaff, and deftly transforms the 
flax into thread, which is wound upon the whirring 
spindle. When the spindle is full of thread she reels 
it off, forming skeins of linen yarn. The work goes 
on during every spare hour until all the flax, and all 
the tow as well, has become thread. And now this 
" worthy woman," who " seeketh wool and flax, and 
worketh willingly with her hands," who " layeth her 
hands to the distaff " becomes the skilful weaver and 
" maketh linen garments." No wonder that " her 
children rise up, and call her blessed " and " her 
husband praiseth her." 

She wove cloth for linen sheets, grateful to the 
touch when hot nights came ; cloth for linen towels : 
tow cloth, strong and durable, from which she made 
dresses for her younger daughters and trousers for 
her husband and sons, and at times linen handker- 



76 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

chiefs were a product of her loom. • A few years since 
one of her daughters, a gracious woman of full four- 
score years, with commendable pride showed me an 
excellent linen handkerchief made by her mother. 
She tenderly cherished it as a precious memento of 
a mother's industry, skill and thoughtful care for her 
household. 

But among the handicrafts of the neighborhood we 
must not fail to notice that most of the people made 
their own candles. Of course if they had chosen to 
do so they could have bought them at the store ; but 
those who had beef or mutton tallow, instead of 
selling it, usually manufactured it into candles ; mut- 
ton tallow, since it was harder and whiter, was always 
preferred. Meeting one day a grandson of John 
Erskine, he inquired about his grandfather's neigh- 
borhood and wanted especially t(^ learn how the farm- 
ers there made candles. I told him that here and 
there a man run them in tin molds, but that most 
of the people made dipped candles. That I might 
make the process clear to him. T said : " Take two 
chairs or boxes, set them from ten to fifteen feet 
from each other, connect them by two parallel strips 
of board a foot apart. Take thirty or forty wooden 
rods, about sixteen inches long and a third of an 
inch in diameter, such as the farmer could easily 
whittle out of a white-pine board with his jack-knife ; 
hang to each rod six candle wicks about two inches 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 77 

apart; place these rods upon and at right angles 
to the parallel strips of board so that the dangling 
wicks will hang between them in parallel rows. Now 
bring a large kettle, fill it half full of hot water, then 
bring the melted tallow, bubbling hot, from the fire, 
and pour it on the water. Don't be afraid, tallow 
and water never mix. Now in turn take each rod 
in your hand and, having immersed the wicks in the 
liquid tallow, put it back in its place ; while it awaits 
its turn for the next submergence, the tallow absorbed 
by the wicks will cool. Keep on dipping till the lower 
ends of the candles are just large enough to slip into 
the socket of an ordinary candlestick. Since at each 
dip the melted tallow runs down a little, the candles 
are larger at the bottom than at the top, — that is 
unavoidable. Now let them hang all night, the cold 
of the night will harden them. In the morning bring 
the candle-box. There are thirty rods and six on 
a rod ; so you have fifteen dozen of tallow dips. 
Now put the box in the cellar, where it is always 
cool, but put it up on a high shelf where the mice 
can't reach it, for hungry mice are great tallow nib- 
blers." Then I said to my questioner, " Do you now 
see how your grandfather and his neighbors made 
dipped candles?" And he replied, "Yes, I see." 
" Well," said I, " it is a lost art now, but we shall 
never sigh for it." 

As we have before said, all kept cows, and there 



78 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

was hardly a person of either sex who did not know 
how to milk. Of course all made butter, both for 
their own use and for barter at the store. The house- 
wife exchanged her butter for such groceries as she 
needed, a little tea, less coffee, some allspice, two or 
three ounces of cinnamon, a few cloves for her 
pickles, a cone of loaf-sugar almost as hard as a stone, 
to be used only when she had company, and a half- 
dozen nutmegs to make her custards savory. Some- 
times she bought with her butter a few needles and 
thread, calico for a dress, some cotton cloth, a comb 
or a sunbonnet. The butter industry was a godsend 
to the farmer's wife. 

Moreover, cheese-making was common. Some 
housewives reduced it to a fine art. They used no 
skimmed milk as nowadays. The milk was brought 
warm from the cows, carefully strained, and poured 
into a sweet, clean tub, where it was at once con- 
verted into curd. So all the richness of the milk 
went into the cheese. Now, since every farmer had 
a cheese-press, when the curd had been fitly sea- 
soned, and packed into a cheese-hoop, it was pressed 
till all the whey was squeezed out of it. Then the 
compacted, finished cheese, wrapped in a cheese-cloth, 
was thoroughly greased with butter and put up on 
a shelf in the pantry to age. 

But the dairy was supplemented by the hennery. 
Everybody in the neighborhood raised hens. Patent 



PRIMITIVE INDUSTRIES 79 

hatchers being then unknown, we reHed on natural 
incubation, and it never failed us. We had eggs in 
abundance, eggs boiled, fried, dropped on toast, made 
into omelets ; we had custard and custard pies ; we 
had chicken roasted and fried, chicken fricassee, baked 
chicken pie and chicken potpie. All this shows how 
large a place was filled by the cackling hen, that even 
now is more valuable to the nation than all our gold 
mines. 

But while among fowls hens were our chief in- 
dustry, we also had ducks and turkeys and geese, the 
last not so much for food as for feathers. During 
the summer the poor, luckless geese were picked once 
in six weeks. It was downright cruelty to animals. 
I repeatedly witnessed the torture. Once I helped 
Mrs. Erskine and two of her amiable daughters 
do the naughty deed. We drove the fine, plump 
geese into a stable, and I caught them one by one 
and handed them over to their fair tormentors. The 
geese were laid on their backs in the laps of the 
pickers, and all the feathers were plucked from their 
smarting bodies, except a small tuft left on either 
side to support the wings. The frightened geese 
squawked in pain, but their pitiful cries were un- 
heeded. If any goose in self-defence bit the picker 
a woolen stocking was slipped over its head and neck 
so that to the torture of having the feathers torn 
out of its living flesh was added that of half smoth- 



80 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ering. Yes, I saw the kind-hearted Aunt Lucy, ap- 
parently without any i)ity do that cruel thing. Why 
not? It was a universal custom. All her neighbors 
did the same, and feathers so secured were called 
live-geese feathers and were used in making the great 
feather beds that every housekeeper must have, espe- 
cially for company. In the cities and larger villages, 
one saw then as now, here and there, a sign that read, 
" Live-geese feathers bought and sold here." 

Such were the chief industries of my country 
neighborhood. Taking them all into account, they 
bespeak the high character of the men and women 
that wrought there so long ago and reveal the secret 
of their thrift. While they were consumers they were 
also producers, and they produced vastly more than 
they consumed. They were also intelligent, not so 
much from what they read in books and papers as 
from what they did. In mastering their varied crafts 
they learned how to observe accurately and to gener- 
alize justly and clearly. Like other communities they 
had their full share of dunces, but at the same time 
not a few men and women of wit and wisdom. 




CHAPTER V 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 



Some of the first settlers of my country neighbor- 
hood were genuine Christians. Before their migra- 
tion westward, while living in New England or 
eastern New York, they not only got religion but 
religion got them. Being part and parcel of their 
own selves they could not, even if they would, leave 
it behind them. Where they went it went. Having 
children, they set about the work of educating them 
as best they could. As soon as they had put roofs 
over their heads they united in building a log school- 
house. They had a double purpose in constructing 
it. There week-days their children should acquire 

81 



82 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

the rudiments of secular knowledge, and there on 
Sundays all who would should unitedly worship God. 
Thus at the start the church and the school, spring- 
ing out of the same root, began to grow side by side. 
But the church, with its manifold and salutary in- 
fluences, shall first claim our attention. 

Before these God-fearing pioneers had any min- 
ister they assembled each Sunday in their log school- 
house to worship God. They sang hymns, read and 
commented on the scriptures and prayed. Some of 
the more gifted in speech exhorted. Their words were 
plain and direct, and none could miss their mean- 
ing. Occasionally someone read a sermon of Wesley 
or Whitefield or Jonathan Edwards. Once in two 
or three months some traveling minister spent a Sun- 
day with them, preaching in the forenoon, afternoon 
and evening. All hailed such an event with enthu- 
siasm ; they came from miles around on foot, in ox- 
carts, lumber wagons and on horseback to hear. After 
the preacher had gone the people for days discussed 
what he had said. As the inhabitants of the settle- 
ment increased, ministers of different denominations 
visited them more frequently. At last, the log school- 
house was no longer large enough to accommodate 
the growing congregation. Relief was at first afforded 
by erecting in another part of the neighborhood an 
additional and larger school-house. Here, after a 
while, two very sensible preachers held a protracted 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 83 

meeting. They agreed upon a division of their labor. 
One of them had an unusual ability in preaching God's 
law, the other in proclaiming his love, grace and 
forgiveness. Each forenoon the former let loose the 
thunders of Sinai against all sin and unrighteousness ; 
each evening the latter with tenderness and gentle 
persuasiveness told the people how willing God was 
to forgive even the worst of sinners ; in the morning, 
the people said, the one cut them down, in the even- 
ing, the other bound up their wounds and healed them. 
While they faithfully proclaimed God's wrath against 
sin and his willingness to forgive, God's hatred of 
sin and his love of the sinner, a deep sense of God's 
presence pervaded the whole community. Each one 
began to feel, he knew not why, that God was very 
near. With this apprehension of God came deep con- 
viction of sin. Many repented and began to lead a 
new life. 

Some, however, fought against God's ambassadors. 
The school-house in which the protracted meeting was 
held was on the corner of Eli Furbur's farm. Eli 
had a strong body, vigorous intellect and tenacious 
will. Though a son of godly parents, he was irreli- 
gious. He lived for himself, was proud and self- 
conceited. He scouted all revivalistic meetings; in 
his opinion they were mere excitement, emotion, froth. 
He snorted in derision at the meeting now going on 
in the school-house. With unwonted zeal he gave 



84 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

himself to work, but could not banish it from his mind. 
The meeting was an unwelcome guest, that persisted 
in walking with him, and sitting down with him 
at table, and going to bed with him at night. He 
was greatly vexed when the thought of God in some 
mysterious way stole in upon him, and he de- 
termined to break up that senseless protracted meet- 
ing. 

Close by the school-house were a lot of logs to be 
split into fence-rails. When the congregation had 
come together in the forenoon. Furbur appeared with 
his ax. beetle and wedges and began his w^ork. He 
made all the noise he could and kept it up incessantly ; 
but, while he greatly disturbed the meeting, it still went 
right on, no one seeming to notice him. However, 
the preacher did pray fervently for the noisy rail- 
splitter, and the people said. Amen ; but while he de- 
livered his sermon with freedom and power, his sen- 
tences were punctuated by the strokes of the ax and 
beetle. Furbur now saw that he had failed ; he had 
neither silenced the voice of his own conscience nor 
the voice of the preacher. Thinking much during the 
afternoon, he concluded that he was not acting like a 
man of sense in condemning a meeting, which he had 
not attended. So he determined that, instead of trying 
to break it up. he would go and hear what the preachers 
had to say. The next forenoon he was on hand, and as 
he listened his prejudice was sw^pt away. At the close 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 85 

of the sermon he rose and said to his neighbors, " Yes- 
terday I was so opposed to this meeting that I tried, 
as you know, to break it up by spHtting rails ; but 
now I have decided that as for me and my house 
we will henceforth serve the Lord." An old 
man, who heard Furbur's confession, afterwards 
said to some youngsters : " Boys, you better not try 
to 'rastle with the Lord, he'll throw you every 
time." 

Among those that attended the memorable meetings 
in the school-house was John Erskine. While out- 
wardly blameless, under the searching preaching of 
the law he felt himself to be an awful sinner. For 
a time he said nothing, but thought much. He began 
to pray in secret. His conflict with sin and self was 
long and sharp ; at last he submitted to Christ as his 
Savior and King, especially as his King. Conscious- 
ness of reconciliation with God came to him not sud- 
denly, but like the gradual dawning of the morning. 
Then in a few simple words he told his neighbors 
of his new faith, and took his stand openly on the 
Lord's side. To the day of his death he was as 
unshakable as the hills. But he had what was then 
called a law experience. Through life he always had 
a deep sense of sin ; he never fully realized how 
completely God through Christ had forgiven him. 
Alternating shadow and sunshine swept over him ; 
now sober almost to melancholy on account of his 



86 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

transgressions, now breaking out into songs on ac- 
count of God's forgiving grace. 

But Aunt Lucy, busy with her children and her 
housework, did not attend the protracted meeting, and 
seemed to take no interest in it. But she could not 
escape that subtle and mighty spiritual influence that 
pervaded the entire countryside. She too began to 
think. One night she felt such deep conviction of 
sin that she could not sleep. Lying in her bed, she 
prayed for forgiveness, and all at once her soul was 
flooded with light and joy. This was an experience 
so absolutely new and strange that she woke John 
up and told him about it ; but he said that he had 
never felt that way and did not know what it was. 
He then for the first time told her his experience, 
so different from hers. Always practical and re- 
sourceful she said, " Let's get up and pray." So, be- 
fore the faintest dawning of the morning, they knelt 
beside their bed and prayed for forgiveness, and that 
God would lead them into the truth. When they 
rose from their knees, she was so full of joy that 
she had no wish for further sleep. She said to John 
that she must tell Mr. Smith, who lived about half 
a mile away, of her new experience, for she wanted 
him to have it, too. So at the gray dawn she was 
at his house and found him just coming out of his 
door. She at once told him what a change had been 
wrought in her and how full of joy she was. When 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 87 

she had finished, he said : " I've been so troubled 
about my spiritual condition that I have not slept 
much during the night, and I'm glad you've come," 
And she said, " Let us pray." In a moment they 
were on their knees. Her neighbor gave himself then 
and there to Christ, and they rejoiced together over 
the forgiveness of their sins. 

This vividly reveals to us the push and power of 
Aunt Lucy. Converted in the night, before the sun 
was up she was preaching her new-found faith to a 
neighbor half a mile from her door. When he had 
received her message and was saved she, rejoicing, 
returned to her home and got breakfast on time for 
her household. 

That protracted meeting lifted the whole neighbor- 
hood up into a higher life. To be sure all did not 
become Christians, but so many did that the im- 
proved moral condition of the entire community was 
clearly manifest. True religion always flowers and 
fruits into pure morals. 

Three churches had sprung up in the neighborhood, 
a Presbyterian, a Baptist and a Methodist. Into 
these folds the recent converts were soon gathered. 
John Erskine, brought up a Scotch Presbyterian, and 
Aunt Lucy an Episcopalian, after much thought and 
calm deliberation, to the surprise of their relatives, 
became Baptists. John, noted for his steadiness of 
purpose and manifest uprightness of character, was 



88 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

soon chosen a deacon in his church. FeeHng him- 
self unfit for the office he begged to be excused from 
it, but at last yielded to the unanimous insistence of 
his brethren. The position from which he so mod- 
estly shrank he adorned for more than forty years. 
His religion was his life. It expressed itself in all 
his dealings and intercourse with his fellow men. He 
did injustice to none; good to many. He treated 
his farm-hands with rare kindness. He sedulously 
guarded all their rights. He fed them well, paid 
them fully and promptly, and never allowed them to 
work overtime. It was customary to stop work at 
sundown. Just before sunset, John would call out, 
" It's time to quit." Sometimes his help would say, 
" Let us finish what we are at just now." Then, in 
stentorian tone, came the reply. " NO. drop it, do 
that to-morrow; and if there is no to-morrow you 
won't have to do it at all." 

In his house he was cheerful, and by his humorous 
speech and kindly manner made all about him happy. 
But he was very strict on some points. Regarding 
dancing and card-playing as horrible sins, he abso- 
lutely forbade his children to indulge in either. And 
they never ran counter to his will, except occasionally 
on the sly. Aunt Lucy believed in a little more lib- 
erty, but thought it best for all to heed the will of 
the head of the house. Her children, however, noted 
that when a violinist played skilfully in her parlor, 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 89 

she seemed unusually animated, and said, " When he 
played I felt like dancing." It brought back the days 
of her girlhood, when she sometimes knew what it 

was to — 

" Trip it as you go, 
On the light fantastic toe." 

But John doubted if the influence of a fiddle — he 
never said violin — were good. 

He also kept holy the Lord's day. He was not 
so tenacious about it as to make his children un- 
happy ; but he did no unnecessary work on Sunday, 
nor did he permit any over whom he had control 
to do it. If his hay, dry and ready to be put into 
the mow, were about to be wet by an approaching 
shower, he would not touch it even if it should rot 
in the field. Once in the early spring the weather 
suddenly became warm on Saturday night, and the 
sap of the maple trees began to run freely. By Sun- 
day noon the buckets were full and began to run 
over. John's eldest son said to him, " Father, the 
sap-buckets are full and running over. The neigh- 
bors are gathering their sap, and don't you think that 
we ought to gather ours and save it? " His emphatic 
reply was: " It's the Lord's sap and if he wants to 
pour it on the ground it is none of my business. My 
stewardship begins to-morrow morning." But his 
children noted that it began a great while before sun- 
rise on the next day. 



90 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

One summer, just after the wheat had been cut, 
while it stood in shocks in the open fields, there came 
a long, drizzling rain. The farmers were anxious. 
If the rain should continue the wheat would sprout 
and their crop, which was their mainstay, would be 
ruined. But on Friday night the heavens cleared, and 
on Saturday the surface of the bundles of wheat be- 
came dry. So, some farmers, fearing that it might rain 
again, began on Sunday to draw their wheat in and 
pack it away in their barns. John Erskine had a great 
crop of it, had in fact much more at stake than most 
of his neighbors ; but he paid no attention to his 
wheat on that bright, beautiful Sunday. Instead, he 
took his family in his two-horse wagon to church. 
As he drove along, observing what his neighbors were 
doing, he said to his youngest son : " These men are 
committing a double folly ; they are putting their 
wheat in mow while it is wet. It will heat and spoil. 
And they are breaking the Sabbath." When Monday 
came the heavens were still clear. John's sons asked 
him if they should not begin to draw in the wheat. 
He, to their amazement, said, " No," and gave him- 
self to other tasks. Not until late in the afternoon 
of Tuesday did he put any of his wheat into the 
barn, and then only a single load, saying again and 
again to his importunate sons, who of course knew 
more than " the governor," " It must not be put in 
the mow until the bundles are drv in the center." 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 91 

During Wednesday and Thursday he put his whole 
crop under roof. On the following Sunday, when 
driving to church, he saw his neighbors, who a week 
before had stowed their wet wheat in their barns, 
taking it out and standing it in the open fields to 
dry, for it had already heated in the mow and begun 
to mildew, greatly damaging it. So he said again: 
" My son, we should always keep the Sabbath be- 
cause God has commanded it, but it pays to keep it. 
See our neighbors. Last Sunday they worked to 
put the wheat in their barns, and now they again 
break the Sabbath by carrying it out to dry. Never 
forget that it pays to obey God." Was not this 
humble deacon right? 

Now, as the community increased in wealth, and 
log houses gave way to frame, the churches built 
meeting houses where they regularly worshipped, 
though for a long time the school-houses in emergen- 
cies were also used for that purpose. The Presby- 
terians were distinguished by having a stone meeting- 
house. It was neither imposing nor beautiful, but, 
like the staid people that worshipped there, it was 
solid. The audience room was in the form of a 
parallelogram, with a high pulpit at one end and a 
higher gallery for the choir at the other, while between 
the two were rows of high-backed pews. The pews 
had doors opening on the aisle, that shut the occu- 
pants of each pew in and everybody else out. 



92 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

In my day this church had four successive pastors, 
always called by the people either elders or ministers. 
These ministers were all college graduates. In this 
also the Presbyterians were distinguished from the 
Methodists and Baptists. But a stone meeting-house 
and a college-bred minister were enough to make 
ordinary mortals a little proud, and, by many a word 
and act, these staid Presbyterians showed that they 
were not wholly impervious to this subtle sin. 

The first minister of this church whom I remem- 
ber, was a young man, very precise in manners and 
dignified in bearing. He never seemed for a moment 
to forget that he was a minister, which perchance was 
rather a virtue than a fault. He wrote all his ser- 
mons with scrupulous care and read them to his con- 
gregation, with very little action or warmth. This 
method of preaching was not popular with the people, 
especially since the sermons had hardly a symptom 
of genius ; but as he presented faithfully the essen- 
tial truths of the gospel, his success, measured by 
years, was not inconsiderable. 

He was smooth-shaven and wore a wide, white 
stock and standing collar, whose stiflf, sharp edge 
came dangerously near his ears. He seemed to me. 
boy as I then was. a very sober mortal. If his ap- 
proach did not fill me with awe. it made me feci 
that in such a presence anything like boyish fun would 
be utterly out of place. But he took a deep interest 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 93 

in us, and we learned by degrees that he had a kind 
heart. We all respected him, some of us came near 
loving him. He at times amused and instructed us 
by some simple experiments in chemistry and elec- 
tricity, which to our boyish minds were very won- 
derful. 

A part of the time he kept, what was called, a 
" Select-School." He taught some favored, advanced 
pupils Moral Science. This filled the small boys with 
wonder. We thought ; " Shall we ever know enough 
to have a study like that ? " He awakened within some 
of us a desire to go to college, somehow, somewhere. 
But we had never seen a college nor a college pro- 
fessor. To our callow imaginations a college was 
something very high, very august, and well-nigh un- 
attainable, a thing foreordained for the elect few. 

This dignified minister, having been called to an- 
other church, was succeeded by a man far abler in the 
pulpit ; so at least the boys and girls thought. He 
was not so prim nor precise as his predecessor. He 
dressed and acted very much like the rest of us, and 
we were wholly at ease in his presence. Like Zac- 
chaeus he was small of stature ; his hair curled all over 
his head ; he wore in the pulpit a turn-over collar and 
a black necktie. He stirred us up by his preaching. 
In his sermons he poured forth his thoughts with 
great force and vehemence, and when under full 
headway amused us greatly by strangely moving his 



94 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

curly scalp backwards and forwards, as though it 
were under complete control of his will. We got 
through him a new idea of a Presbyterian minister. 
We learned that a preacher of that denomination 
might be at the same time both genial and pious. He 
unbent and came near to us. He touched us with 
his sympathy. In return we gave him our confi- 
dence and affection. While at times he awakened our 
humor and stirred us to innocent laughter, at others 
he made us think to some purpose of spiritual and 
eternal realities. But such a man of course was 
needed in a broader field, and all too soon he left 
us ; but the good which he did remained and will 
forever. Some of his impassioned, eloquent sen- 
tences, uttered more than sixty-five years ago, still 
cling to my memory. 

His successor was a red-headed man of small 
calibre. He wore a white necktie, was shy in man- 
ner and quite destitute of personal magnetism. His 
sermons were meagre in thought, and he read them 
in a hesitating, hitchy way. Moreover, they lacked 
the accent of conviction. Nobody seemed to be im- 
pressed by them. A poor sermon, badly delivered, is 
not half so attractive as a wired and rattling skeleton. 
But the preacher was pure in character, and exem- 
plary in conduct. In spite of all his drawbacks he 
did good. Let no pulpit pygmy despair. But in one 
thing he excelled ; he was a mighty hunter of birds. 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 95 

He not only shot pigeons and quail, we all did that, 
— but also robins. To shoot a robin I then thought 
was mighty mean, and think so still. But he excused 
himself for it, since he shot them to protect the 
cherries. 

This fact of his ministerial career among us brings 
to mind two interesting characters. The minister was 
a bachelor and lived with one of his deacons. A 
Mr. Le Clerc also made his home there. The latter 
was the mystery of the neighborhood. Whether he 
were bachelor or widower no one knew. He gave 
no information about himself. He was evidently a 
Frenchman, but spoke English fluently and correctly. 
He was apparently about sixty years old. He had 
enough money so that he could live comfortably with- 
out work. He dressed well, took snuff from a gold 
snuff-box, carried a red and yellow bandanna, wore 
a white neck-cloth with standing collar, and when he 
went to church always donned a shiny silk hat and 
a swallow-tail coat. Being a Presbyterian, it was con- 
jectured that his ancestry must have been Huguenots. 
He was graceful in manner and unaffectedly polite 
to all. But whence he came, and what his life hith- 
erto had been, no one among us ever found out. He 
was a gracious old gentleman of courtly mien, full 
of the milk of human kindness, who mysteriously 
appeared among us, and for many years lived before 
us an irreproachable life; but beyond that none of 



96 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

us knew an iota of his history. Whenever I think of 
him, an exhibition of his mercy is vividly before me. 
About forty feet in front of the east veranda of the 
farm-house, where he and his pastor, the noted bird- 
hunter, Hved, was a row of cherry trees, which were 
red with ripe and ripening fruit. The robins were 
flitting about among the branches, eating their fill 
and bearing away the luscious cherries to their hun- 
gry broods. The tender-hearted Frenchman stood on 
the veranda, looking with evident delight on the be- 
witching scene, when the clerical Nimrod came out 
of the house with his shot-gun to slaughter the 
marauders. Two robins alighted on a cherry spray, 
and all aquiver were eagerly feasting, their heads 
and tails bobbing up and down. The ministerial 
hunter lifted his gun to fire at them, when Le Clerc 
frantically flourished his bandanna and cried, " Shoo ! 
shoo ! " Away flew the frightened robins, while their 
protector, laughing, said, " Good, good, you ought not 
to shoot them, innocent creatures." But his pastor 
responded, "That's too bad! if we don't shoot them, 
they'll eat up all the cherries." I have always been 
grateful to that mysterious Frenchman for the lesson 
of mercy which he by his act taught me. 

But the deacon, under whose roof lived both the 
slaughterer and the defender of the robins, was a 
marked character. His name, Karl Craigton, 
sounded like clashing rocks. He was tall, broad- 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 97 

shouldered, muscular, bull-necked and as hairy as 
Esau. Matted brown locks, with a tinge of sandi- 
ness, covered his head ; small, reddish hazel eyes 
peeped from beneath unusually heavy, shaggy eye- 
brows, while his face, even up to his cheek bones, 
was covered with a thick, stubbed, sandy beard. He 
looked as though he might have been a lineal de- 
scendant of some Scandinavian viking. He was 
embodied hardiness. The heaviest, most exacting 
labor of his farm seemed to him but a sportful trifle. 
He gloried in all sorts of work, and drove hard both 
his hired men and his horses. But he spared him- 
self no more than he did others. 

A single incident, among many, shows his excep- 
tional hardihood. His wheat was ripe, and he began, 
with herculean energy, single-handed to cut it with 
his cradle. By a misdirected stroke, he ripped with 
his scythe the calf of his leg, making a ghastly wound 
full six inches long. The physician and surgeon lived 
two miles away. Since his yellow grain needed to 
be cut at once, he could not spare the time to send 
for him. So, to staunch the blood, he bound up the 
wound with his bandanna, and going to the house, 
threaded a coarse needle with white thread and sewed 
up his gaping wound. He then went back to the 
field, and till sunset the ripened grain continued to 
fall before the masterful strokes of his cradle. Was 
he not a grim hero? 



98 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

But his moral character was seamy. He was 
secretive and tricky. While doing some good, at 
times, when his clandestine acts were brought to light, 
his neighbors were stunned and disgusted with his 
meanness. He reduced knavery to a fine art. He 
had a yoke of steers beautifully matched. In the 
spring or early summer he was expecting to sell 
them at a high price. But he left them out nights 
in an open shed, and when unexpectedly the mercury 
fell to twenty degrees below zero, the tail of one of 
them froze so that, after a few days, the lower part 
of it dropped ofif. And now since the steers were 
no longer caudally matched, their market value was 
greatly decreased. But the wily deacon was equal to 
the emergency. Finding on a dry hide a tail of the 
same color, he adroitly wired it to the stub of the 
tail that remained, so that to all appearance the 
steers were now as perfectly matched in tail as they 
were in head or horns. A buver came. He admired 
the steers that were so perfectly matched and readily 
paid a high price for them. After a while the des- 
picable trick became known, and its author felt the 
scorn of the entire neighborhood ; but he was a 
striking type of bigger thieves since his day, like the 
sugar-weighers of New York. 

He was a lover of money, and easily tempted to 
use almost any method to obtain it. He no doubt 
meant to be good, but contrary to his purpose he 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 99 

was now and then astonishingly bad. Once on a time 
he visited a city full twenty miles away. There he 
saw a juggler, with a crowd around him, putting by 
sleight-of-hand a five-dollar goldpiece under one of 
two hats. Many a novice thought that he could 
easily tell the hat under which he put it. If he could, 
the goldpiece would be his ; if he failed, he must 
pay five dollars to the juggler. The deacon looked 
on for a while, and then feeling sure of his game 
said : " It's under the hat to your right." The hat 
was lifted up, but there was no goldpiece under it. 
And the deacon before the laughing crowd shame- 
facedly paid his five dollars. It griped him to lose 
the money, but there was no help for it. He thought 
that no one acquainted with him would ever find out 
what he had done; but one of his neighbors was 
there on the outskirts of the crowd and, thinking 
the incident too good to keep, told others of it. It 
came to the ears of his brethren in the church. The 
elders called him to account for gambling. He ac- 
knowledged his fault, but at the same time urged in 
palliation of it, that he intended when he had won 
the five dollars to give it to the minister. 

He was devoted to his church. He attended regu- 
larly all of its meetings. On all occasions he spoke 
in praise of it. He gave money to support the pastor, 
but not in large sums. He was proud of what his 
church achieved, and was even ready to give it credit 



100 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

for what others had done. A mile away the people 
of that part of the neighborhood held meetings in a 
school-house, where about twenty had been converted. 
These converts asked for membership in the Presby- 
terian Church. When the request was under con- 
sideration, the slippery deacon spoke heartily in favor 
of receiving them. He was slow of speech. It was 
difficult for him to frame his sentences. As a fore- 
runner of every phrase was a guttural ahem-ahem. 
succeeded by a slight but audible grunt. So he began 
his address to the church, " Ahem-ahem-ahem, Breth- 
ren, — ahem — aheni — as a church — ahem — we 
have — ahem — great reason — ahem — to congrat- 
ulate ourselves on our rapid increase. For one — 
ahem — I am heartily — ahem — in favor of re- 
ceiving — ahem — these converts into our church." 
So he proceeded with continued and abundant ahems 
to extol the enterprise of his church. 

Now since the church, aside from two or three 
members, had not so much as once attended the meet- 
ings at the school-house where these applicants for 
church membership had been gathered into the king- 
dom, the boastful remarks of Deacon Craigton stirred 
up a good sister, Aunt Jane Lacey, to reply to him. 
She was a matron full fifty years old, tall, lank and 
sallow. She was a godly woman without any fanati- 
cism. There were no frills either to her piety or 
her speech. She wore a dark calico dress and a very 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 101 

long sunbonnet. As she rose to her feet every eye 
was on her. She never spoke unless she was pro- 
foundly moved, and the audience was intent to catch 
every word that might fall from her lips. She 
stepped out of her pew into the aisle. She was par- 
tially bent over. Fixing her eyes on the boastful, 
self-righteous deacon, she said, with a marked nasal 
twang, emphasizing her words not only by her in- 
tonation, but by jerking her head up and down: "I 
am sure that we are all in favor of receiving the 
converts into this church. But they were not con- 
verted through our labors. We have nothing to 
boast of." At this point, looking the aheming deacon 
straight in the eye, and, bringing down her sun- 
bonnet-covered head with an unusually violent jerk, 
she added, " Don't you think that we ought to give 
Gawd all the glory ? " The deacon was squelched. 
The atmosphere was cleared. The converts were re- 
ceived, and the glory was given not to the church, 
but to God. 

Now let no man judge the entire church by Deacon 
Craigton. Why not judge it rather by Aunt Jane 
Lacey? There were scores of persons in that obscure 
country church, who were pure in life and Christ- 
like in spirit; why not judge it by the many rather 
than by the one? Does one black sheep in the flock 
make the whole flock black? But even Deacon 
Craigton was often upright and true. Why not judge 



102 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

him by his best acts rather than by his worst? A 
man said one day, " Deacon Craigton is a rather sorry 
specimen of a Christian." A gentleman hearing the 
remark asked, " Did you know him when he was 
from seventeen to twenty-one ? " His def amer re- 
plied, " Why no, I did not." " Well," said the ques- 
tioner, " if you had, you would now see, notwith- 
standing all his faults, what a miracle of divine grace 
he is." 

The successor of the robin-shooter was an un- 
usually able man. He preached with great force and 
at times with rare eloquence, but he proved to be a 
hypochondriac. One Sunday at midday, returning 
to his house after preaching, he was seized with the 
hallucination that he had lost his head. He searched 
for it for three days, looking, in his efforts to find 
it, under every bed and bureau, into every cupboard, 
drawer and dark corner of the parsonage. He asked 
everyone who called upon him if he had seen his 
head anywhere. At last to his great joy he dis- 
covered it under the bureau in his bed-room. It was 
Wednesday, just after dinner, when he found it, and 
now his friends saw that he was utterly unconscious 
of the lapse of time since the preceding Sunday. He 
asked his family if they were not going to church. 
When told that it was Wednesday, he could not at 
first believe it, saying that he had preached in the 
morning and must preach again in the afternoon. 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 103 

Some ministers differ from this worthy parson; they 
lose their heads without the shghtest suspicion of 
the loss, and of course never find them. 

During the pastorate of this hypochondriacal 
preacher there was an amusing incident in reference 
to his wife. She was an intelligent woman, pleas- 
ing in manner, and had fine taste in dress. The older 
women of the congregation thought that her ward- 
robe was richer than was befitting a minister's wife ; 
so they appointed a committee to visit her, and ex- 
postulate with her on making such a display of finery. 
She received them without irritation or resentment, 
heard without protest all that they had to say, and, 
with a smile, thanked them heartily for coming, and 
for their solicitude for her and the reputation of 
the church. Still she intimated that her good sisters 
might have made a mistake as to the costliness of 
her dresses, and began to ask them what their dresses, 
which they then had on, cost per yard. They told, 
and lo ! their dresses were much more, costly than 
hers. While they were puzzled and embarrassed 
over their mistake, she went on without a word of 
censure to say that the secret of her dresses looking 
so rich lay in the way that she made them and put 
them on. So the conference ended in a pleasant chit- 
chat on true economy in tasteful dressing. The com- 
mittee left wishing a thousand blessings on the 
Christian woman who, instead of resenting their in- 



104 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

trusion into her personal and private affairs, had 
deftly seized the opportunity to give them, in a sweet 
and winsome way, a much-needed lesson on good 
taste in dressing. 

The Methodist church had a new pastor nearly 
every year, sent them by the bishop ; and since the 
church was in a country neighborhood, he naturally 
did not send them the best preachers under his 
authority, but usually men who could not have filled 
acceptably the pulpits of larger places. Yet the con- 
gregations of the neighborhood were as intelligent, 
take them by the hundred, as the congregations of the 
city, especially in the Bible and Christian doctrine. 
But they could not pay as large a salary as churches 
in the city and so must be content with second-rate 
talent. 

" For what is worth in anything 
But so much money as 't will bring?"' 

As there was but little to break the dull monotony 
of the farming community, we always hailed with 
delight a new face and a new voice. So each year 
the new Methodist preacher was greeted by a large, 
curious, eager audience. He was always popular at 
the start, when he preached his best sermons. And 
then the protracted meetings, held during the long 
winter evenings in the plain, wooden meeting-house, 

' Hudibras P. 11., C. T., 1.1116465. 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 105 

lighted by tallow clips, were the delight of the young- 
sters. In those meetings excitement often ran high. 
The preacher at times uttered his thoughts in sten- 
torian tones, and pounded his pulpit and Bible with 
his fist, while men and women in various parts of 
the house cried, " Amen ! " " Glory to God ! " " Bless 
the Lord ! " Some of them also sighed like a fur- 
nace or emitted sepulchral groans. Others clapped 
their hands and exclaimed, " Come now. Lord, come 
in mighty power ! " To most of us this was the 
height of enjoyment. Nevertheless, these noisy meet- 
ings sometimes did great good. Some, who attended 
them for laughter and fun, felt, before the meeting 
closed, premonitions of coming judgment. Somehow 
hell on the one hand and heaven on the other seemed 
not very far off, and the conviction stole into some 
hearts, that it was the part of wisdom to shun hell 
and turn their faces toward heaven. 

The coming annually of the presiding elder was 
also a great occasion. He was usually a man of 
ability, and evidently preached his best sermon. The 
people of the neighborhood turned out to hear him, 
and at times packed the meeting-house. They keenly 
appreciated a good discourse. The boys used to wish 
that all the ministers were presiding elders, so that 
they could have good preaching the year round. 

Within the bounds of the neighborhood was a beau- 
tiful primeval forest. There, in God's cathedral, whose 



106 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

pillars were the tall, straight trees, under the leafy 
arches of pendent limbs, the Methodists held in mid- 
summer their camp-meetings. Most of the people of 
the neighborhood, without respect to creed, attended 
them. Denominational walls for the time being were 
broken down. Christians of different names preached 
and prayed together, and the forest rang with their 
songs of praise. 

But there too, at times, were enacted the wildest 
extravagances. Men and women prayed at the top 
of their voices, and, as the excitement rose, a score 
at a time would pray, and each would utter his peti- 
tions with the full capacity of his lungs, — and that 
capacity seemed marvelously great, — until bedlam 
itself seemed to have broken loose. Sometimes per- 
sons fell to the ground, became pale and rigid, and 
were oblivious to all that was passing around them. 
Hours sometimes elapsed before they awoke to con- 
sciousness. 

At these meetings much of the preaching was good, 
many of the exhortations were sensible and weighty, 
but mingled with these were talks that were strange 
and grotesque. On one occasion a Methodist brother, 
who wished to say something to promote a closer 
union of the various denominations, said : " Brethren, 
there was Paul, he was a good, old-school Presbyte- 
rian and one of the greatest men that ever lived. 
Then, there was John, a good old Baptist, but one 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 107 

of the best men that ever breathed; but there was 
good old David, who exhorts us to shout for joy and 
clap our hands, thank God, he was a Methodist." 

The Baptists for many years were served by the 
same pastor. Elder Josiah Martin. He was also a 
farmer. He did not however preach that he might 
be able to farm it. but farmed it that he might be 
able to preach. What he raised in his fields re- 
enforced his small salary of two hundred and fifty 
dollars a year, so that he could live respectably among 
the people. He made it his chief business to care 
for his church and congregation. 

He was wholly a self-made man. He had received 
but the slightest education in the crudest of district 
schools, such as sprang up in the western wilderness. 
But he had seen a good deal of the world. He was 
a drummer boy in the war of 1812. He was also 
a pioneer in the van of that column which was push- 
ing westward, to lay the foundations of thriving 
agricultural communities. With his ax he had as- 
sisted in clearing away the forest, and transforming 
the wilderness into fruitful fields. While thus en- 
gaged he was converted to Christ at a meeting held 
in a log school-house, which he had helped to build. 
He united with others in forming a church. As they 
had no pastor, his brethren urged him to preach. 
Feeling himself utterly unqualified to do so he at 
first refused ; but at last, yielding to their impor- 



108 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

tunity, he carefully thought out a sermon, but, greatly 
embarrassed as he rose to preach, he utterly forgot 
what he had prepared, and stood for two or three 
minutes dumb and blushing before the audience. He 
then began to relate to them his Christian experience 
arid, with an overflowing heart, talked on for three 
quarters of an hour. Several who heard him were 
converted. He preached again in the afternoon with 
even greater power. The little church now called 
him to be their pastor, and the elders of the scat- 
tered churches of the wilderness assembled, laid 
their hands on his head and prayed. That was his 
ordination to the Christian ministry ; but all who 
knew him felt that preceding that was God's own 
ordination. And so, called of God and approved by 
men, he went on proclaiming the truth to the day of 
his death. Still, he was always lamenting that he had 
not been educated in the schools, but he sat daily 
at the feet of Christ, the greatest of all teachers. By 
patient study he made himself familiar with the 
scriptures, and became a workman that " needed 
not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of 
truth." 

In a fairly intelligent neighborhood, for many years, 
he so preached that those who were the most diffi- 
cult to please delighted to listen to his sermons. They 
were not constructed according to the ]>attern given 
in the mount at Newton or Princeton, but thev 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 109 

were orderly in arrangement, clear in thought, packed 
full of common sense, and delivered with force and 
unction. To be sure, when he became thoroughly 
aroused, he fell into a sort of sing-song tone, so 
that a wag declared that the old elder did not suffi- 
ciently distinguish between the preaching and the sing- 
ing service ; but the tone was never permitted to rob 
his utterances of that sturdy sense for which he was 
distinguished among his neighbors. 

He had always put a very low estimate upon his 
own discourses, and desired very earnestly to excel. 
And since many other ministers wrote their sermons 
and read them to their congregations, he determined 
to do so, too. So, one week, he wrote out his ser- 
mon in full, and on Sunday morning started for 
church with it safely stowed in the crown of his plug 
hat. He was on foot and the wind was blowing 
furiously. Soon a blast lifted his hat from his head, 
and carried it over the fence into an adjoining field. 
The sermon, written on detached pieces of paper, 
flew on the wings of the wind in various directions. 
The elder found his hat, but unable to gather up 
the scattered pages of his discourse, he was compelled 
to preach without them. This was his first and last 
attempt, while in our country neighborhood, to preach 
from manuscript. 

When greatly stirred by his subject, as he often 
was, he became a Boanerges in the pulpit. He had 



no WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

large lung power, and on occasions did not hesitate 
to use it. And in the hot Sunday afternoons of July 
and August, he occasionally laid off his coat and 
preached in his shirt-sleeves. He did indeed pro- 
claim the gospel, that God is ready to pardon and 
save, but like many preachers of that day, he also 
let loose the thunders of God's law, and many who 
heard him were deeply convicted of sin and felt that 
they must repent or perish. A little more of that 
kind of preaching to-day might greatly quicken the 
public conscience. 

He never permitted work on the farm to interfere 
with his preparation for the pulpit. During the weeks 
of haying and harvesting, like his neighbors, he 
worked every day, early and late in the fields. While 
he toiled he very seldom spoke to anyone; his 
thoughts were busy with his sermons. It was then 
that he preached best. In harvest time his audiences 
were largest, since the people expected the ablest dis- 
courses at that season of the year. I well remember 
one of these harvest-time sermons, preached more 
than sixty-five years ago. It was a clear, beautiful 
Sunday. The audience was large. There was scarcely 
a vacant seat in the meeting house. Elder Martin, 
full of bodily vigor, rose to preach. He announced 
as his text, " But Jcshurun waxed fat and kicked." 
A titter spread through the audience. Every eye 
was on the speaker, every ear was open to his mes- 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 111 

sage. With great earnestness he set forth the fact 
that the manifold blessings that God bestows upon 
men led them often in their pride to rebel against 
him. To illustrate and prove this he cited many 
examples both from the Bible and secular history, 
and then appealed to the people not to let their rich 
harvests lead them to forget God and rebel against 
him, but rather to devote themselves and their in- 
creasing wealth to him. That was a timely sermon. 
It deeply impressed all who heard it. For days the 
people talked about it. There were able preachers 
long ago, even in obscure places. 

Moreover, the elder was popular with the boys. 
He understood and loved them. They thought that 
there was nobody quite equal to him. Then, he had 
been a drummer boy in a real war, and in their eyes 
he was a hero. Some of them bought snare-drums and, 
to their great delight, he taught them how to play on 
them. At times in summer evenings, for a mile 
around the parsonage, the neighbors could hear the 
roll of the drum as the elder drilled the boys in the 
art of handling their drumsticks. He drummed some 
of the boys into the kingdom of heaven. 

Many would probably call the prayer meetings of 
my country neighborhood old-fashioned. But there 
was power in them. The pastor read the scrip- 
tures and presented at considerable length some 
thought which he considered pertinent and important. 



112 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

After this there followed testimonies, exhortations, 
singing and prayers. Both men and women took 
part. When they prayed they got down on their 
knees and with great earnestness offered their peti- 
tions to God. They sang the hymns of Watts and 
Wesley. Nobody was in a hurry to go home. They 
acted like persons who had very important business 
to transact, and who did not intend to leave the place, 
where they had assembled, until it was done. They 
would often i)ray, exhort and sing for two or three 
hours. They sang with the spirit, whatever one 
might say of the understanding. One good old 
deacon, who always, save when eating his meals, had 
a generous quid of tobacco in his mouth, used to 
both pray and sing through his nose. But the hymns 
were full of biblical truth. Many of them are the 
best lyrics in our language. The old tunes admirably 
fitted the words, ^^'hen I now hear some of the 
flashy hymns of to-day sung to fiddly-diddly tunes 
— is it because I am an old fogy ? — T long for the 
hymns and tunes of my boyhood. I would gladly 
walk tw'enty miles to hear that old. tobacco-chewing. 
Baptist deacon sing the following hymn through his 
nose, to the tune of Windham, 



" Broad is the road that leads to death. 
And thousands walk topfcther there. 
Rut wisdom shows a narrow path. 
With here and there a traveler." 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 113 

At the regular preaching service, the singing was 
by a chorus choir. The Baptist meeting house was 
Hke the Presbyterian in its general, internal arrange- 
ments. There was a very high pulpit in one end 
of it for the minister, and a still higher gallery in the 
other for the singers. Between the two sat the con- 
gregation in their high-backed pews. In the choir 
gallery the men sat on one side, the women on the 
other. The musical instruments were the flute, flageo- 
let and bass-viol. The violin, or fiddle, as it was called 
in the neighborhood, was ruled out, because from time 
immemorial it had done service at dances, and by sinful 
associations had been irredeemably corrupted. By 
common consent it was given over to the devil, to 
whom, the Christian people seemed to believe, by 
prescriptive right it belonged, but the bass-viol, or 
big fiddle, as the boys called it. was permitted to 
praise God in the sanctuary. It was an unsolved 
puzzle to my boyish mind, why a little fiddle was 
so devilish and a big fiddle was so godly. 

When the elder had given out and read the hymn, 
the chorister pressed his pitch-pipe between his teeth 
and then held it to his ear ; the bass-viol player drew 
with great dignity his bow across the string which 
would give the proper key ; the flute and flageolet 
blew the harmonious note, then the whole choir 
struck in and sang. At the sound of the first note, 
the whole congregation rose, turned their backs to 



114 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

the preacher and their faces to the choir, that they 
might not only hear, but see the performance. The 
singing was far from being artistic, but it was very 
hearty and loud, and as the people were not so cul- 
tivated in music as to be fastidious, it unquestionably 
helped their devotions. 

All the churches in our neighborhood sustained 
Sunday schools. In the opening exercises, besides 
scripture reading and prayer, we sang some familiar 
hymn ; but there were then no Sunday school songs, 
nor Sunday school papers. We had a small library 
in which were some good books. But there was one 
thing of inestimable value ; we were required to learn 
all of our scripture lessons by heart. Anyone who 
would not, or could not. do this was made to feel 
that he was sadly deficient. And we did not study 
the Bible kangaroo-fashion, as they often do to-day, 
but we began with a gospel, and learned so many 
verses each week without skipping, until we had gone 
through several chapters or the whole book. What 
many of us learned became the foundation of a lib- 
eral education ; the thought contained in the lessons 
colored all future acquisitions of knowledge. New 
Avine may be good, but sometimes I think that the 
old is better. 

Thus my country neighborhood was well cared for 
religiously. All had the opportunity of public wor- 
ship. Within the bounds of the neighborhood there 



MINISTERS AND CHURCHES 115 

were, every Sunday in the year, at least six sermons 
preached, and often more. There were weekly prayer- 
meetings in the churches and in private houses. 
There were Sunday schools and Bible classes. Still 
all did not fear the Lord. This neighborhood, like 
many others, had some of the best and some of the 
meanest of mankind. 




CHAPTER Yl 



THE MILLERITE EXCITEMENT 



During 1842 and a part of 1843 my country neigh- 
borhood was greatly agitated by Millerism. William 
Miller, who resided at Low Hampton, Washington 
County, N. Y., began as early as 1831 to predict the 
speedy second coming of Christ. His views spread 
throughout several States, and tens of thousands be- 
lieved that the end of the world was at hand. 

According to Miller's interpretation of prophecy, 
Christ would come in 1843. As the specified time 
drew nearer, the excitement grew more intense in 
communities where his notions were adopted, and 
in many other communities where it was thought that 

116 



THE MILLERITE EXCITEMENT 117 

these notions might possibly be true. At last our 
remote and peaceful neighborhood, which was kept 
in contact with the outside world only by a slow 
two-horse stage and a slower postboy on horseback, 
began to boil and bubble v/ith this widespread agita- 
tion. It seemed to be as pervasive as the atmos- 
phere, and no household, however hidden from pub- 
lic view, could remain untouched by it. Everyone 
had something to say about the speedy coming of 
the Lord, and the judgment that was expected to fol- 
low it. Some to be sure condemned the whole agita- 
tion as groundless and foolish, but the frequency with 
which they recurred to the subject showed that they 
were by no means free from anxiety concerning it. 
Others thought that it was possible, if not probable, 
that Christ might soon appear " in the clouds of heaven 
with power and great glory," while a few were very 
confident that he would come to judge the world in 
the following year. Some rejoiced in view of his 
expected appearing, while others, though some of 
them were professed Christians, evidently convinced 
that they were not quite ready for his advent, were 
filled with apprehension and a feeling akin to alarm. 
In December of 1842, there came into our neigh- 
borhood, from Vermont, an excellent minister, gentle 
in manner, who calmly measured every word that 
he spoke. He was earnest, thoughtful, candid, and 
seemed to be quite free from fanaticism. In his 



118 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

utterances he never for a moment betrayed any undue 
excitement. He won the esteem and commanded the 
confidence of all, and had not the shadow of a doubt 
that Christ would come in the following April. And 
notwithstanding the Lord had declared that no one, 
not even the angels in heaven, knew the day of his 
second coming, this man quietly announced, with all 
the positiveness of a Hebrew prophet, that Christ 
would come on the twenty-third day of April next. 

Now, so long as the time of Christ's coming to 
judgment was somewhat indefinite, that indefinite- 
ness to my boyish mind robbed the event of much 
of its horror. Even if the Lord should come in 1843, 
he might not appear, I thought, until the very last 
days of December, and that would give me, after 
New Year's, about twelve months to adjust myself 
to the new situation. Then Christnvis. his birthday, 
would be such a fitting time for him to come, so 
that his first and second coming would occur on the 
same day of the month. So I laid out a beautiful 
plan for the Lord to follow. But the absolute defi- 
niteness as to the day of Christ's coming, and that 
day so near, tended to make " each particular hair to 
stand on end." Our boyish fun, though perfectly inno- 
cent, lost much of its charm. In imagination we saw 
the heavens rolling up like a scroll, the earth wrapped 
in flames and " melting with fervid heat." 

For a whole week that calm, solemn, positive min- 



THE MILLERITE EXCITEMENT 119 

ister lectured every night in the Baptist church on 
the speedy second coming of the Lord, a subject 
which was now absorbing most of the thought of 
the neighborhood. Great audiences, still as the grave, 
greeted him. Excitement ran deep and strong. The 
thoughts of the people, though unexpressed, were hot 
within them. The lecturer hung up maps on which 
were represented all the great epochs of history. 
Then he began to interpret the " ten horns " and 
the "little horn" of Daniel's prophecy, and also "a 
time and times and the dividing of time," together 
with " a time, times and a half," and declared with 
dogmatic positiveness just how long the periods of 
history were which were designated by such symbolic 
language. Starting with the king of the kingdom, rep- 
resented by the " little horn," and adding the years 
designated by " a time and times, and the dividing of 
time," it brought us just to 1843, when the Lord was to 
appear and judge the earth. Then in some way, I 
do not now remember how, he also arrived at the same 
result by subtraction, multiplication and division. Those 
were all the rules of arithmetic with which I was then 
acquainted, and by each one, with unerring exactness, 
he had demonstrated that Christ was to come the 
second time in 1843. I never before had taken such 
breathless interest in figures. I was too young to 
criticize his premises, his interpretation of scripture 
or his process of reasoning,' but I saw that he added. 



120 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

subtracted, multiplied and divided correctly. Now, 
somebody had taught me that atrocious falsehood, 
that figures never lie, and I concluded beyond a 
peradventure that the Lord was coming to judge the 
world the very next year, and on the twenty-third 
day of April. I became a very thoughtful, serious 
boy. When I thought of my numerous pranks, I felt 
sure I was not quite ready for the judgment. In 
my anxiety I asked my father about it. He was a 
wise man, and evidently wishing to use passing events 
for my good, said that he did not know when the 
Lord would come, that it might be in April or even 
before, and that the only safe course to pursue was 
to be ready. 

The lectures were at last finished. The people had 
been profoundly impressed by them. They were ex- 
cited when the lecturer came; he left them still more 
agitated. Nearly all thought that the Lord might 
come in April ; some were fully expecting him at 
that time. A man, who was a notorious drunkard, 
out of very fright quit his cups, attended regularly 
all the services at the Baptist meeting-house, professed 
conversion, talked and prayed, and was anxious to 
unite with the church. But Elder Martin was wise 
and thought that he had better defer his public pro- 
fession for a season. Yet T noticed that when the 
neophyte talked or prayed, the old elder said " Amen " 
very heartily as though he believed in his sincerity. 



THE MILLERITE EXCITEMENT 121 

Elder Martin, who had been a thoughtful, open- 
minded listener to his brother minister from Vermont, 
when the lectures were over, preached an able ser- 
mon on the text, " But of that day and that hour 
knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in 
heaven, neither the Son, but the Father." That par- 
tially cleared the atmosphere, and, in a measure, quieted 
the general agitation, but in spite of the text and 
the sermon, Christ might come on April twenty-third, 
— nobody knew. So the excitement continued ; 
nothing just then could stay it. 

We saw that the silent, straightforward John Ers- 
kine was unusually sober, and that at every spare 
moment he was studying his Bible. As a result of 
his study, he declared that he did not understand unful- 
filled prophecy and did not see how anybody could. 
He said that if we went right on doing faithfully 
our daily duties, we should be prepared to meet the 
Lord, whenever he might come. That seemed to be 
good, hard sense. Aunt Lucy heartily endorsed his 
view, but she put it in this way : " Nobody knows 
when the Lord will come ; we'd better tend to our 
own business and the Lord will tend to his." And 
amid the widespread agitation, her soul was unruffled. 

But the end of this religious excitement drew near. 
The thought of the entire community being concen- 
trated on April, the first quarter of the new year 
sped away with incredible swiftness, and the dreaded 



122 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

month, unwelcome to many, was too speedily ushered 
in. Most of the people were apprehensive and 
solemn. Before we were fairly aware of it, the 
ominous twenty-third dawned. The air was thick 
with smoke. The sun, shorn of his sparkling rays, 
looked upon us through the mist with his great, dull, 
red eye. It was a strange, weird scene. Everything 
seemed to suggest that some great catastrophe was 
at hand. The duties of the morning in and around 
the farm-houses were mechanically performed. No 
one seemed inclined to talk ; when it was necessary 
to speak, the utterance was in a subdued tone. Then, 
all at once, there was a deep, rumbling sound in the 
earth beneath ; the ground swelled and heaved ; the 
dishes rattled on the shelves ; a brick here and there 
fell from the top of a chimney on the roof. It was 
an earthquake. 

All business in the neighborhood was speedily sus- 
pended. ]\Ien and women gathered in knots to dis- 
cuss the situation. The most skeptical in reference 
to the immediate coming of Christ began to waver. 
And now two men in a buggy, drawn by a large, 
line, spirited horse, drove like Jehu along those coun- 
try roads. Into the yard of every farm-house they 
threw a hand-bill, warning everybody to be ready, 
since the Lord would come on that very day. This 
warning, re-enforced and emphasized by an earth- 
quake, produced the greatest alarm. 



THE MILLERITE EXCITEMENT 123 

The day wore on. Many of the people wandered 
about Hstlessly, Some farmers began again to work 
in their fields, but without much energy or purpose. 
Near the close of the day a godless wag, who always 
saw the ludicrous side of even the most serious things, 
driving a poor horse before a dilapidated buggy, 
met the men who were warning the community by 
the hand-bills, that the Lord would come on that day, 
and stumped them to swap horses with him. They 
remonstrated with him for his wickedness, but he 
persisted, saying, " My horse will last you till night, 
and then the Lord will come and you will not need 
a horse again. But your horse is so fine, he will be 
of great service to me." But they refused and drove 
on. The hectoring wag declared that they denied 
their faith by their refusal. 

On that evening the sun set in blood. Many 
whispered, "What will occur before midnight?" A 
band of Christian men and women, more enthusiastic 
than the rest, but having a very sordid view of the 
robes of righteousness worn by the saints in glory, 
arrayed themselves in white garments, assembled in 
one of the churches, sang hymns of praise, expecting 
every moment to be summoned to mount into the 
air to meet their Lord. But while they waited and 
worshipped, the clock struck twelve, and the Lord 
had not come. Mr. Miller, with the best intention, 
had blundered. The white-robed worshippers stole 



124 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

away one by one to their homes. The spell was 
broken, the strain was over, the whole neighborhood, 
weary from anxiety and watching, slept profoundly ; 
it was in the main the sleep of the just. 

Over one ludicrous incident some made themselves 
merry. A middle-aged man, of dubious character, 
felt quite sure that Christ would come before mid- 
night. While, like all others, he was very anxious 
on leaving the earth to go to heaven, still, deep down 
in his soul, he had some misgivings as to his fitness 
for the society of the redeemed. In his perplexity, 
he longed to be alone ; so, instead of going with the 
white-robed to the meeting-house, he went into an 
adjoining field and climbed to the top of a haystack, 
and, tossed between hope and fear, lay down to wait 
the Lord's appearance. Wearied out by the excite- 
ment of the day, he fell asleep. Some mischievous 
boys, that had observed him, about midnight set the 
haystack afire. They stood near to see the result. 
As the flames shot up beside him, he awoke, and 
they heard him exclaim, " In hell, just as I thought! " 
But perceiving that the flame and smoke were only 
on one side of him, he slid ofif the stack on the other 
side. On reaching the ground and feeling of him- 
self, he found, to his great relief, that he was neither 
dead norVlamned, and that he still had a chance to 
repent of his sins and keep out of hell and get into 
heaven. Let us hope that he took that chance. 



THE MILLERITE EXCITEMENT 125 

The next day things in the neighborhood assumed 
their wonted aspect; and Christian men began to 
appreciate as never before the words of Christ, " But 
of that day and that hour knoweth no man, no, not 
the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but 
the Father only." 

But what of the man who was reclaimed from 
drunkenness and professed conversion because he 
believed the Lord was coming on the twenty-third 
of April ? He got drunk on the twenty-fourth, and 
kept up his drunken spree for three weeks. He drank 
as though he had lost some months of swinish en- 
joyment, and must by diligence in drinking redeem 
the lost time. Washing a hog does not change its 
nature — it is still a hog, and at the first opportu- 
nity will wallow in the mire. Still the excitement had 
done even this poor sot some good. It had kept him 
from his cups for nearly six months, and that was 
better than unbroken inebriety. 




CHAPTER VII 



SCHOOLS 



In my country neighborhood there were four dis- 
trict schools. Since they had the same general char- 
acteristics, I shall confine my story to the one where 
my " young idea " was first taught " how to shoot." 
One will fairly represent the whole. And, first, the 
schoolhouse shall claim our attention. \\'ith your 
face turned toward the rising sun. it stood on the 
right side of the road. A piece of ground in the 
shape of a triangle had been cut out of two adjacent 
farms, the apex of the triangle terminating at the 
line fence which separated these two landed estates. 
On two sides of the triangle was a rail or snake fence. 

126 



SCHOOLS 127 

At the base of the triangle the schoolhouse was buih. 
Its front hne was the hne of the dusty or muddy 
highway. About sixty rods across the field to the 
south was a swamp of willows and elms, on the 
border of which flourished birch, maple and beech. 
But there was not a tree on the grounds of the school- 
house, nor in the immediately adjacent fields. 

The schoolhouse of one story and an attic was 
built of wood. At the front of it was an entry, lower 
than the main building. On either side of the entry 
were shelves, on which, on one side, the girls put 
their bonnets — they did not in those days wear hats 
— hoods and shawls ; on the other side the boys 
stowed their hats or caps and comforters ; they 
wore no overcoats even in the coldest weather. Hav- 
ing thus doffed and stowed their head-gear they 
entered the main room. This room was square. The 
floor was uneven. The walls were roughly plastered. 
In the center of the room stood a great box stove, 
red with rust. Around the whole room, against the 
wall, immediately under the windows, was built one 
continuous, sloping desk. Its continuity was inter- 
rupted only by the door at one end and the teacher's 
desk at the other. Underneath the continuous desk 
was a shelf, where the pupils, — scholars they were 
then always called, — • laid their books and slates. 
Before it were long stationary benches without backs. 
On those hard, wearisome seats sat the older schol- 



128 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ars, the boys on one side of the room and the girls 
on the other. In front of them, around the whole 
room, and nearer to the box stove, silent and repul- 
sive in summer, roaring and red-hot in winter, was a 
row of low pine benches with backs, where the 
younger children or " little shavers " sat. 

The building neither within nor without had a 
touch of color. Most of the houses from which the 
children came were painted red or white, and some 
of them were even adorned with green window blinds, 
but not a drop of paint stained the pristine wood 
of the building where they were being educated. 
Without, under the influence of the weather, the 
clapboards and shingles had become dun or dark-gray. 
Within, the continuous desk on the boys' side was 
full of notches, clandestinely cut with pocket knives. 
The rule against cutting the desk seemed only to 
stimulate our vandalism. There were no curtains to 
the windows. In summer the hot rays of the sun 
poured through them upon that long desk of knotty 
pine. To my boyish fancy the knots were eyes, and 
when under the solar heat the turpentine started from 
them, I thought that in blistering agony they shed tears 
of pitch. In cold days in the winter when it was neces- 
sary to keep the stove in the center of the room siss- 
ing-hot, while those next to the walls of the school- 
room were suffering with cold feet, the little chil- 
dren, who sat near the great heater, were half baked. 



SCHOOLS 129 

No criticism of this ever occurred to me in my boy- 
hood; then I knew of nothing better; but after the 
lapse of years, it seems to me that human ingenuity 
could hardly have contrived a schoolhouse more 
cheerless and forbidding. 

The chief things taught in the school were the three 
R's — " Readin', 'Ritin', and 'Rithmetic." Having 
learned the names of the letters we were taught to 
put them together, and so make words. We were 
not bothered as children are now with learning the 
sounds of letters. Of course we made the sounds, 
but happily did not know it. Fortunate children we! 

We laboriously learned tables of words and then 
shutting up our books, the teacher pronounced the 
words one by one, and we spelled them. We stood 
in line on the floor ; if a boy or girl missed a word, 
and the next one spelled it correctly, he took his 
place in the line above the one that missed it. So 
we were always trying by spelling correctly to get 
to the head of the class. The exercise stimulated 
us by appealing to our ambition and pride. We first 
spelled words of one syllable, then of two, and we 
climbed this rising scale until we reached the longest 
words in the language. When in Webster's spelling 
book, we got to the table of words beginning with 
baker, and called on that account, " The Baker 
Table," we were greatly set up. But at last we 
reached the table that began with the word, incom- 



130 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

prehensibility. This was regarded a high attainment; 
and when, at the top of our voices, as we were en- 
couraged to speak, we could reel off the eight sylla- 
bles of that word, we esteemed ourselves learned. 
As we spelled the syllables we pronounced them as 
follows : I n, in, c o m, com, incom, pre, pre, incom- 
pre, hen, hen, incomprehen, s i, si, incomprehensi, 
b i 1, bil, incomprehensibil, i, incomprehensibili, t y, 
ty, incomprehensibility. 

But the highest achievement was to spell correctly 
what was called, " The Trouble Table." words having 
the same sound, but different in spelling and meaning. 
For a long time this table was an enigma to some 
of us. The teacher explained nothing. We simply 
learned, as well as we could, by rote what was placed 
before us. Well do I remember my boyish struggles 
over the words, " Style, manner of writing. Stile, steps 
over a fence." There were no stiles in our neighbor- 
hood. Of what was referred to I had not the slight- 
est conception. The comma between the word, stile, 
and its definition, signified nothing to me. I read 
as though there were no pause and took " steps " 
for a verb. " Stile steps over a fence " ; what sort of 
a creature it was that stepped over I could not 
imagine. Maturer experience cleared up the mystery. 

In the back part of the spelling book were the 
" Abbreviations." These we were compelled to com- 
mit to memory. For a long time the meaning of 



SCHOOLS 131 

A. M. was to me an unsolved riddle. Knowing 
nothing of the uses of commas and semicolons, I 
paid no heed to the punctuation that separated the 
different definitions. " Master of Arts ; before noon ; 
in the year of the world." Now, as I read them with- 
out respect to the pauses, as though they were one 
simple, unbroken sentence, when the teacher pro- 
nounced the enigmatical letters, " A. M.," I responded 
in one breath, " Master of Arts before noon in the 
year of the world." " Well done," the teacher said. 
But he did not know that I, who had answered so 
promptly and glibly, was puzzling my brain over 
the profound questions: What is a Master of Arts? 
What is meant by the year of the world? If it is 
the first year of the earth's existence, who so early 
was made Master of Arts, whatever that might mean? 
And what could "before noon" in a year mean? 
What before noon of a day meant everybody knew, 
but " before noon in the year of the world," that 
was an enigma. We were not encouraged to ask 
questions. We never thought of mentioning our 
difficulties to the august schoolmaster or schoolma'am. 
We simply brooded over them in silence. 

A classmate of mine who stumbled at these abbre- 
viations proved himself to be rather fruitful in liter- 
ary invention. The teacher, looking him squarely 
in the eye, pronounced to him the enigmatical let- 
ters, " B. V. ? " Of course he had read many times 



132 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

that they stood for " Blessed Virgin." But he did 
not know who the Blessed Virgin was. To be sure, 
he had often read and heard of Mary, the mother 
of Jesus, but living in a community wholly Protestant, 
he had never heard her called the Blessed Virgin. 
So what B. V. signified had utterly slipped his mind. 
But the teacher, still eyeing him, repeated sternly 
B. v.? B. v.? What does it stand for? And the 
staring, blushing boy answered, " Barrel of vinegar." 
He had seen that. His answer now looks to me like 
a stroke of genius. 

When we had once gone through the spelling-book 
in that dry, grinding way, we were turned back as 
far as the " Baker Table," and in the same mechani- 
cal fashion we spelled it through again. And this 
was done about twice a year, for several years. 

Just for the fun of it, we engaged in spelling 
matches. In the winter, in sleighs, the bottoms of 
which were covered with fresh straw, with a plentiful 
supply of blankets and bufTalo robes, drawn by stout 
horses encircled with tinkling bells, great loads of 
boys and girls, with shouts and laughter and song, 
were driven to some neighboring schoolhouse, where 
the contest in spelling took place. The ride over the 
snow, which sometimes covered the fences by the 
road-side, was even more attractive than the spelling 
match. When those who thus assembled were ready, 
at the word all stood up and continued to stand. 



SCHOOLS 133 

Then one of the teachers present began to pronounce 
words, and we spelled round in turn. Anyone that 
misspelled a word sat down. He was then a dead 
cock in the pit and could spell no more than night. 
So the work went on, and the excitement grew more 
intense, as one after another failed. He or she who 
stood up the longest was said to have spelled the rest 
down, and was declared the victor. It was a very 
innocent and exciting recreation. But some of the 
best spellers, when tested by words found in ordinary 
reading, would fail. To spell the tables of words 
in the spelling-book was possible from a mere me- 
chanical memory, but to spell correctly such words as 
"which," "though," "cough," "separate," and "re- 
ceive," found in a book of history or in a newspaper, 
required a knowledge of orthography. 

But our spelling-book was also a reading-book. 
Under each table of words, or else on the opposite 
page, were scraps of prose or poetry. Some of the 
prose was simply detached sentences, having no possi- 
ble connection with each other, and containing neither 
interesting thought nor sentiment. Two of these 
sentences, which, to my great disgust, it is impossi- 
ble for me to forget, were, " A toad jumps like a 
frog " ; and " A load of oak wood is worth more 
than a load of pine wood." To have such vapid 
stuff engraved forever on the immortal substance of 
one's soul seems to be a too grievous retribution for 



134 WHEx\ NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

simply having studied diligently Webster's spelling- 
book. Still, in the latter part of the book, the story 
of " The Young Sauce-box " up in a tree, stealing 
apples, who, laughing at the owner that tried to 
frighten him from his perch by pelting him with sods, 
was quickly brought down to the ground by the 
virtue which was found in stones, made some amends 
for the arid prose through which we had to pass in 
order to reach it. This story we read with ever 
fresh delight, until our books at those pages were 
quite worn out. 

From the spelling-book we were inducted into the 
" Easy Reader," which had here and there gleams 
of sentiment and sense, and at last the more profi- 
cient were put into the " English Reader," which 
was full of the best English prose and poetry. Of 
much of it we gained at the best only a misty con- 
ception, since none of our teachers seemed to think 
that it came within the scope of his duty to explain 
the meaning of what was read. His sole office, as 
he apprehended it, was to see that we pronounced 
the words correctly, — which, to be sure, was and is 
an important part of rudimental education. But in 
spite of the inadequate teaching, that old " English 
Reader " was to me a priceless blessing. Many a 
brilliant passage of prose, and many lines of the best 
lyric poetry from its pages became forever part and 
parcel of my thinking. 



SCHOOLS 135 

In addition to reading, we all studied geography, 
or, as we pronounced it in our ordinary conversa- 
tion, " g'ography." We pored over our maps, such 
as they were, and committed much of the text to 
memory. It was good education as far as it went. 
But in those days we were never put to the work 
of drawing maps, nor were we taught physical geog- 
raphy. Our teacher told us that the earth was round, 
and since we had no globe in the school-room, he illus- 
trated his declaration by thrusting a stick through 
an apple, which he turned round and round on its 
axis. This was good teaching, but the fact was 
strange to us and aroused our curiosity. The earth 
on the map looked flat, and as we walked over it, 
we could not discover its roundness. Some of the 
boys thought that if it were round, we should drop 
off when it turned over, and all the water in the 
creek and mill-pond would be spilled out. No one 
as yet had taught us the great law of gravitation. 
But by our study we acquired a fair knowledge of 
the United States as it then was ; but most of the 
territory west of the Mississippi was labeled on our 
maps, " The Great American Desert." We had to 
learn the names of the States, bound them, tell their 
capitals, their great rivers and mountains and name 
their principal products. We were always delighted 
to have the teacher ask, " What are the principal 
products of North Carolina ? " If we had forgotten 



136 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

what the other States produced, we were sure about 
that State, and at the top of our voices used to 
answer, " Pitch, tar, turpentine and lumber." 

But there was one pathetic incident connected with 
our study of geography, which reveals the power 
of pictures over young minds, and shows how perni- 
cious at times that power may be. To illustrate the 
occupations of men in Louisiana, there was in our 
geography a cheap woodcut of a sugar plantation. 
A company of negro slaves was pictured as toiling 
among the stalks of sugar-cane, while near them 
stood a slave-driver, wearing a broad-brimmed hat 
and carrying a whip under his arm. There sat by 
my side in that dingy, old school-room a bright, popu- 
lar boy. He would often turn the leaves of his geogra- 
phy till he came to that picture, and then sit in silence 
gazing at it intently. At last the sight of his eyes 
engendered in his mind his purpose for life ; the thing 
which he was to do was born in his thought. He 
said to me : " When T get to be a man, I am going to 
be a slave-driver on a sugar plantation." I laughed 
at him, but his secret purpose could not be shaken 
by ridicule. I then resorted to reasoning, and tried 
to put before him. as well as T could, the cruelty and 
horror of such an occupation. But he said that it 
would do him good to lash the black rascals. Time 
glided on. Both he and I were on the verge of early 
manhood. He ran away in the night. His father and 



SCHOOLS 137 

mother, brothers and sisters, knew nothing of his 
whereabouts. A few months later they were shocked 
to hear that he was a slave-driver on a sugar plantation 
in Louisiana. He continued in that vile occupation 
until the Civil War broke out, when he enlisted in the 
southern army, and was shot to death on the battle 
field. His life was shaped and wrecked by a picture 
of oppression in Olney's Geography. 

All the older scholars learned to write. Our teach- 
ers taught no theory of the art, they probably had 
none. What we learned was by imitation and prac- 
tice. First of all, we made our own writing books. We 
took ordinary foolscap paper, doubled the sheets over, 
sewed them together, put on a cover of brown paper, 
and the book was done. That was a sensible pro- 
cedure. The teacher wrote at the top of each page 
a copy, and we imitated it as well as we could, 
writing it over as many times as there were ruled 
lines underneath it on the page. The farther down 
we got from the copy, the worse we wrote. Many of 
our copy books were filled with frightful blotches ; but 
the awkward letters were the embryo out of which 
at last emerged many a fair hand. If one would 
learn to swim he must plunge in and do his best, so 
if one would learn to write, a theory, setting forth 
how it should be done, avails but little, but with a 
fair copy the thing must be attempted, and practice 
at last secures at least a legible hand. 



138 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

We all used quill pens. Most of the quills were 
plucked from geese raised on the farms in the neigh- 
borhood. The teacher made our pens for us. At the 
half hour devoted each forenoon to writing, here and 
there, from different parts of the school-room, was 
heard the cry, " Make my pen? " or " Mend my pen? " 
and the teacher, penknife in hand, hurried hither and 
thither in response to this importunate summons. 
How smoothly those quill pens moved over the paper ! 
There were some good things in " ye goode old 
tyme," and that was one of them. 

But oh ! the dreariness of figures ! Most of us 
studied for years Adam's Arithmetic, " 'rithmetic " 
we called it. Winter after winter I ciphered doggedly 
through Addition, Subtraction, Multiplication, Divis- 
ion, Compound Numbers, and the tables of W^eights 
and Measures; but each year, just as I got to Frac- 
tions, to my great relief, school, as we said, let out. 
Then the following year, I went over the same dreary 
path, since each new teacher thought that it would 
be best to begin at the beginning and be thorough. 

During the hours of school, when we came to a sum, 
as we called it, which we could not do — we had never 
then heard of solving a problem — we cried out : 
" Assistance ! " but usually left off the first syllable, 
so that our cry was : " 'Sistence ! " Then the teacher 
would come, work out the sum or problem on our 
slate, and, without giving us any explanation of his 



SCHOOLS 139 

work, hand it back to us, so that we were usually 
just as wise as we were before we cried: " 'Sistence! " 
But that sum was a milestone, and having passed it, we 
knew that we should not reach it again until we trav- 
ersed the same weary road a year hence ; so, with a 
sigh of relief, we went to work on the next sum. The 
time came at last, after long tiresome years, when 
our reasoning powers had been more fully devel- 
oped, that, in the course of four months, the length 
of our winter school term, we went through the whole 
of that hated arithmetic, and gained a fair knowledge 
of it. Is not arithmetic the most difificult science to 
teach, if its processes must be explained? And yet 
every little child in the schools is put to learning it, 
often under teachers that do not understand it and 
of course cannot unfold it to others. 

But grammar was the most advanced study of my 
country school ; it was the cap-sheaf. We studied 
Brozvn's Graniuiar. Who Brown was I never knew. 
We were compelled to learn by heart the rules which 
he laid down, and most of the observations under 
them. Many of us had at the best a very vague idea 
of what the rules meant. Why the teacher required us 
to commit them to memory was then, and is now, a 
mystery. To most of us it was an onerous task, which 
profited little or nothing. But we grimly stuck to our 
job, till our grammars grew dog-eared, and recited 
mechanically many a rule without the ghost of an 



140 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

idea of what it was all about. Still, we did learn to pick- 
out of a sentence its subject and predicate, to note 
the qualifying words and phrases, and that was no 
unimportant acquisition. But all the time that we 
were learning by sheer force of will the rules of 
grammar, and applying them as best we could in 
parsing, in common conversation we constantly and 
frightfully murdered the king's English, and no 
teacher corrected us. 

We hailed with delight the last and crowning recita- 
tion of the school-day. All the smaller children were 
dismissed at four o'clock. The room was still. From 
four to five the advanced pupils parsed, as well as 
they could, portions of Milton's Paradise Lost, or 
Pope's Essay on Man. The exercise sharpened our 
wits and by degrees the meaning of the poet dawned 
upon us. Each one gave his own views and defended 
them by all the rules of grammar, which he could 
summon to his aid. While this work was far from 
perfect, it proved to be of incalculable value to those 
who earnestly engaged in it. They learned to think 
after him the thoughts of the poet and in a measure 
at least to imagine as he imagined. The exercise, 
crude as it was, opened up to them a new world. 

Just before we were dismissed for the day, came 
the roll-call. The teacher pronounced in alphabetical 
order the names not of his pupils, but of their parents 
or guardians. He did this to ascertain how many had 



SCHOOLS 141 

been in attendance during the day from each house- 
hold, and the oldest child from each family responded 
by giving the number. John Erskine usually kept 
his eight children in school and often one or more of 
his nieces or nephews, whom he had invited to spend 
the winter with him. When the teacher called out 
" Erskine," and his oldest daughter responded " Nine " 
or " Ten," as the case might be, there was often an 
audible titter. 

To maintain the school, each patron was assessed 
according to the number of children that he sent to 
it. A poor man, sending a half dozen, paid a large 
school-bill, while a rich man who sent none, went scot 
free. For many years John Erskine, neither rich nor 
poor, but thrifty, had the honor of paying the largest 
school-tax of any one in the district. 

In winter the teacher was always a man, in summer 
a woman. The winter session was four months, the 
summer five. In the winter the teacher was hired 
by the month, in the summer by the week. The 
schoolmaster received from sixteen to twenty dollars 
a month, the schoolma'am from one and a half to two 
dollars a week. Of course they were kept, they 
" boarded 'round." 

In summer the services of the older children were 
needed at home, in the kitchens and on the farms, 
while the younger children were kept in school. But 
the days were full of sunshine, interesting work was 



142 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

going on in the fields, the schoolroom was repulsive 
to sight and smell, the meadows and woods were green, 
the budding and blooming flowers were bewitch- 
ingly beautiful and fragrant, the air was freighted 
with the odor of new-made hay, and it did seem 
to us that the school would never end. Each summer 
was a wearisome, interminable age. 

Both in winter and summer we were stimulated to 
good order and to study largely by flattery and illu- 
sive hopes. When we were dull, we were told that 
we were bright, and we believed it. When we read 
or spelled or recited, we took our places in line, and 
were ordered to " toe the scratch " or to " toe the 
mark," made by the loosely-matched boards of the 
floor. Then we all looked at the teacher, nor would 
he proceed until every eye was upon him, when at 
the motion of his hand, all the boys made a low 
bow, and all the girls courtesied. This was good 
military drill, and also a practical lesson in deference 
and politeness to superiors. Often near the close of 
some exercise, the teacher would say : " He that will 
stand up straightest and speak up loudest, will be 
President of the United States." The girls could not 
of course share in this delightful prospect, but the 
boys, stirred by this glittering prize, stood up so 
straight that they leaned over backwards, and read 
and spelled as loud as they could yell, and each one 
seemed verily to think that at no distant day he should 



SCHOOLS 143 

be the successor of Washington and Adams and Jef- 
ferson. For one, I feel somewhat resentful that this 
positive promise, made by one of the citizens of the 
Republic, has not been kept. I fulfilled my part of 
the contract ; I toed the mark, stood up straight and 
spelled so loud that I nearly raised the roof, but 
nobody ever thought of making me President. I fear 
that I shall go down to my grave with a deep sense 
of disappointment and loss. 

But when, as a means of discipline, flattery failed, 
corporal punishment was resorted to. The smaller 
children were sometimes seized by the nape of the 
neck and hustled with frightful speed several times 
around the stove, or they were thrown up towards 
the ceiling and caught as they were coming down, 
to the imminent peril of life and limb. The older 
boys were made to stoop over and put the forefinger 
on a mark, when the part at a safe distance from the 
vitals was smartly spanked with a ruler or welted 
with a rod. Sometimes when a lad was sitting on 
his bench, his leg, between the knee and hip, or his 
arm, between the shoulder and elbow, was sharply 
feruled. Now and then a dull or disobedient boy was 
compelled to go to the neighboring wood and cut 
switches, beech or birch, and bring them to his teacher, 
that he might be flogged with them. Corporal punish- 
ment was often administered because pupils had failed 
from any cause to learn their lessons. One dull, good- 



144 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

hearted boy was cruelly whipped, two or three times 
a week, because he did not learn the multiplication 
table. He was an honest lad who tried hard but 
was unable to accomplish his task, and that stupid 
teacher learned at last that he could not beat the 
nuiltiplication table into the boy's head by mauling 
his legs till they were black and blue. 

But the boys sometimes outwitted the teacher, or, 
as he was more fitly called, the schoolmaster. A lad 
was sent to the woods to cut some beech rods with 
which he might be chastised. He performed his 
errand promptly and even with cheerfulness. The 
master told him to take off his coat, and was quickly 
obeyed. He then raised high above his head one of 
those withy, blue-beech switches and brought it down 
with all his might on the boy's shoulders, when it 
snapped into a dozen pieces, and the coatless lad stood 
grinning and unhurt. The boy, when he cut the rod 
in the woods, took the precaution to cut it round 
and round with his sharp knife in several places, 
without ostensibly disturbing the bark. It looked all 
right, but when it bent by the force of the blow, it 
broke. The whole school burst out into loud, uncon- 
trollable laughter, and to the credit of the master. 
he appreciated the practical joke, heartily joined in 
the merriment and, without further attempt at chas- 
tisement, sent the boy to his seat and his tasks. 

One of our schoolmasters made many threats, but 



SCHOOLS 145 

hardly ever carried them out. The boys soon learned 
that his bark was worse than his bite. He made 
sharp speeches about the terrible things he would do 
if we did not behave, but not following his brave words 
by act, he gradually lost his grip on us. A lad, gifted 
with a retentive memory and having an immense stock 
of impudence, learned by heart one of those scolding 
harangues. On a certain afternoon of the week the 
pupils were required to declaim, or, as it was called 
in that country school, to speak pieces. When the boy, 
who had at his tongue's end the master's diatribe, 
was called upon to speak, he delivered it with rare 
powers of mimicry. The whole school laughed and 
cheered. The poor schoolmaster, red in the face, 
pounded furiously on his desk and shouted, " Order ! 
Order!" But every moment the confusion and 
uproar grew in volume. At last it was Bedlam broke 
loose. Then suddenly, without any preconcerted 
action, but by a simultaneous impulse, the windows 
of the schoolroom on all sides were thrown up, and 
almost all the pupils, both girls and boys, jumped 
out of them. There was not one in the school who 
dreamed of such an ending when the excitement, 
raised by the delivery of the master's scolding began. 
A few moments later that poor, defeated teacher — 
a really good-hearted fellow — walked rapidly away. 
He looked neither to the right nor the left. He dis- 
appeared in the distance, and was never seen in the 



146 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

neighborhood again. Moral : if you bark, bite ; but 
it is better neither to bark nor bite. 

All, except the pupils that lived very near the 
schoolhouse, brought with them their dinners or 
lunches, usually in tin pails or baskets, and ate them 
during the hour of nooning from twelve to one. The 
farmers being generally thrifty, these lunches were 
abundant in quantity. They consisted of bread and 
butter, the butter often sprinkled over with sugar ; 
doughnuts galore ; pies, apple, mince, custard, black- 
berry, raspberry, gooseberry ; slices of corned beef, 
fresh pork, fresh chicken, mutton, sausages, cheese 
and apples. 

We have already noticed that the neighborhood was 
famous for its great apple crops. This luscious fruit 
in the winter formed an important part of the lunches 
of the school-children. One school-boy, named Tom 
Jenkins, had very large pockets in his coat, that he 
used to stuff every morning with fine apples from his 
father's well-filled bins. He sat on the bench before 
the continuous desk built against the walls of the 
schoolroom. On the shelf underneath it, just back 
of his seat, he was accustomed to stow his apples 
and wait for the hour of noon, when he ate an incredi- 
ble number of them. But Tom, sometimes weary of 
his lessons, was strongly tempted to turn his face 
to the wall and furtively eat an apple. One day, 
yielding to temptation, he partook of his appetizing 



SCHOOLS 147 

fruit. Towards noon, fearing lest some boy who sat 
near had stolen some of his apples, he began to count 
them. He missed one ; he had utterly forgotten that 
he had eaten it himself, and burst into tears. He 
boohooed till all the school was looking at him in 
wonder. The teacher, thinking that something very 
serious had happened, asked him sympathetically what 
was the matter, when he answered, sobbing as though 
his heart would break, " Somebody has stolen one of 
my apples." The teacher said, " How do you know 
that? " He replied, still crying aloud, " I had twenty- 
two apples under my desk this morning and I have got 
only twenty-one now." The whole school roared with 
laughter, when they thought of poor Tom having only 
twenty-one apples left for his lunch. But when the 
boisterous merriment had partially subsided, a boy 
who sat near Tom cried out, " The apple he's lost 
he ate himself, I saw him ! " This added fresh fuel 
to the fun, and for many weeks poor Tom was joked 
about that meagre lunch of twenty-one apples and 
about that cruel thief, his own stomach, that had 
stolen and hidden from sight that one luckless apple. 
There were some customs, connected more or less 
intimately with the school, that are worthy of a pass- 
ing notice. Both at home and at school the boys were 
instructed always to bow to strangers whom they met 
on the road, and the girls to courtesy. So to all that 
passed us on foot or horseback, in wagons or carriages, 



148 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

we lifted our chip hats and made a deferential bow. 
while the girls, in their woolen or calico or tow frocks, 
gently courtesied. The origin of this custom I never 
knew, but that it was most commendable is beyond 
question. It instilled into our minds genuine polite- 
ness. 

Most of the children, in summer went barefoot ; not 
because their parents were unable or unwilling to 
provide them shoes, but because they preferred it. 
As soon as the frost was out of the ground, bare feet 
began to appear, and boots and shoes were not again 
put on until the freezing days of autumn came. In 
fact, the barefooted formed a sort of aristocracy, 
that ridiculed without stint those who were so tender 
and delicate that they could not lay aside shoes and 
stockings. 

In the winter the schoolmaster usually took off his 
coat, hung it up on the wall back of his desk, and did 
his work in his shirt sleeves. This custom was so 
deeply rooted that any teacher who refused to con- 
form to it, we set down as an upstart and a failure, 
and our prophecy usually proved to be true. Who 
can succeed in the face of adverse public opinion? It 
must be changed or obeyed. 

But in spite of all our teachers, the people were 
generally unacquainted with the past tense of do. 
They said, " I done it," " he done it," or " they done 
it." When a boy I was not a little surprised to learn 



SCHOOLS 149 

from a minister, stopping at my father's house, that 
there was such a word as did. Of course I had 
seen it a thousand times when reading, but had never 
used it in common conversation. It is something of 
a mystery how fairly intelligent neighborhoods be- 
come almost wholly infected with some gross forms 
of false syntax. 

Aspirations were awakened in some of us for a 
broader education than the district school afforded. 
So, accompanied by a friend, I found my way to an 
academy in an adjoining county. This school was not 
very well equipped with either buildings or apparatus, 
but it had an able, enthusiastic faculty. It had some- 
thing better than bricks or books, — it had brains. 
Here both boys and girls were thoroughly drilled 
in science and language. The tuition was only 
twenty dollars a year, while rooms and board were 
furnished for a dollar and twenty-five cents a week. 
More than two hundred students sat down at the 
tables in the great dining-hall. In each division 
at the tables the sexes were about equally divided, 
and we were encouraged to converse with each other 
in the best language that we could command. This 
was an important part of our education, and was 
highly prized by all of us. Some of the conver- 
sations at meals resulted in permanent attachments 
and life-long alliances. Returning to our country 
neighborhood at the close of the school year, we told 



150 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

the boys and girls there the wonderful things that 
we had seen and heard. 

One peculiar, mirth-provoking incident I can never 
forget. Mr. Vrooman, evidently of Dutch descent, 
was the steward of the academy. He was tall, muscu- 
lar, red-haired, red-whiskered, partly bald, with a 
small, restless, reddish eye peeping out from under 
a heavy eyebrow. He was of nervous temperament, 
and capable of intense passion. I went into his office 
one day to pay my bill, and found him with his face 
flushed, excitedly pacing his room. It needed no ghost 
to tell me that he was all ablaze. I said, " Why, Mr. 
Vrooman, what is the matter? " " Matter! " he cried, 
" matter enough. I ask only a dollar and a quarter 
a week for board. I provide good food, too. But 
some of the patrons of this school, whose children 
I've fed for months, have kept putting off the payment 
of their bills. At last some of them have come here 
to-day." His excitement became intense as he poured 
forth the hot torrent of his grievances. At last, his 
breath short and quick, his face as red as a live coal, 
he exclaimed, " Why, notwithstanding the low price 
of the board, they've been trying to beat me down, 
to beat me down, sir. Why, sir, when the Judgment 
comes, Omniscience can't deal individually with such 
souls, — they'll be too small for Him. Why, sir, the 
only thing that He can do will be to put a myriad of 
them in a little box, a little box, sir, and d — n the box ! " 




CHAPTER VIII 



TAVERNS AND TEMPERANCE 



In my country neighborhood were two taverns, 
about a mile apart, one at Ramville, the other at 
Lambshanks Corners. On the top of a pole about 
fifteen feet high, standing out in the road, each had a 
semicircular sign so conspicuous that no traveler 
could fail to see it. On each sign in large, black 
letters was the name, " Tavern," and beneath the name 
on one was painted a cock in red and yellow, and on 
the other some Redcoats, retreating before our valiant 
Revolutionary fathers. 

The taverns were two-story frame buildings. When 
new they had been painted white, but in the lapse of 

151 



152 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

years, sun and rain had left only a faint suggestion 
of it. The roofs were blackened by age. Here and 
there under the solar heat the shingles had curled 
up. There were no window-blinds, but the windows 
of the second story had paper curtains covered with 
highly colored figures, that it would have been no 
sin to worship, since they were the likeness of noth- 
ing in the heavens above, nor in the earth beneath, nor 
in the waters under the earth. All the floors were 
bare except those of the parlors, which were covered 
with faded two-ply carpets. On the corded bedsteads 
were ticks stuffed with oat-straw, which, being tougher 
and softer than wheat straw, was esteemed a luxury. 
Covering some of the straw-filled ticks were fluffy 
feather-beds, which in winter, with no fire in the bed- 
chambers, were a boon ; but sunken in them in the 
summer, if the traveler could sleep at all he dreamed 
of purgatorial fires, especially if, in addition to the 
sweltering heat, he felt the sharp teeth of some crazy 
bedbug out on a nocturnal hunt for blood. 

For the exclusive use of ladies, there were in some 
of the best sleeping rooms plain wooden washstands, 
with white or yellow bowls and pitchers, a cake of 
mottled, scented soa]5 — called at the tavern shaving 
soap — and a linen towel. But men were required 
to make their toilet downstairs at the back door, where 
stood a barrel of rainwater and a bench, on which was 
a tin washbasin and some soft soap in a wooden dish; 



TAVERNS AND TEMPERANCE 153 

while just inside, in the back hall, hung on a roller 
a tow towel for all, which was ordinarily changed once 
or twice a week. 

But when business was brisk and guests multiplied, 
rows of cot beds were put temporarily in the great 
ballroom, for the accommodation of belated travelers. 
But men of sensitive nerves found it quite difficult 
to sleep in company with stentorian snorers. On one 
occasion a Dutchman, occupying one of the cots, was 
kept awake by the nasal blasts of his fellow travelers. 
He, with others in the same plight with himself, was 
studying how to become oblivious to the hard breath- 
ing, the sighs and snorts of their more fortunate com- 
panions, when one of the snorers came, as snorers 
often will, to a complete collapse, ushered in with a 
sort of crash as though every bone in his head had 
suddenly snapped asunder, and then was absolutely 
still; at which the Dutchman exclaimed, " Tank Gott, 
one ish det." Those who had been kept awake like 
himself burst into a simultaneous roar of laughter 
that waked the sleepers. They, suddenly lifting them- 
selves up on their elbows, asked, "What's to pay?" 
When told of the Dutchman's thanksgiving, they, too, 
exploded in mirth and for a quarter of an hour the 
old ballroom resounded with their boisterous jollity. 

On the tables of these country inns was always 
fresh milk, unwatered, together with home-made 
bread, fresh eggs, pork salt or fresh, mutton, and, in 



154 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

fall and winter, sometimes chicken or goose, while 
on great occasions roast beef or turkey was served 
and, in their season, such fresh vegetables as grew on 
adjacent farms. As to beverages, guests were 
regaled with cambric tea ; cofifee, barley or Java, 
and cider, new or hard. On a Fourth of July, a 
fellow standing at the door of the tavern at Ram- 
ville kept crying, " Dinner is ready, walk in, gentle- 
men ; we have today a great variety of meat — ram, 
lamb, sheep and mutton." 

But the barroom was the chief place of resort. It 
was the largest room on the ground floor. Its cur- 
tainless windows were apparently never washed, ex- 
cept on the outside by the driving rain. The pine 
floor was stained with mud and tobacco juice. Near 
the center of it was a large, rusty box stove, kept 
hot in the winter with generous sticks of beech and 
maple. The plastered sides and ceiling were dingy 
with dust and smoke. By the walls stood two or 
three unpainted, backless benches, while scattered 
here and there were a few straight-backed, wooden 
chairs. On the side farthest from the outside door 
was the bar, shut ofif from the rest of the room and 
only entered by a half door at the end. What was 
hidden behind and beneath its long. high, wooden 
counter was always a wonder to small boys. But 
we could see at the back wall shelves, their edges 
adorned with saw-toothed red paper, on which stood 



TAVERNS AND TEMPERANCE 155 

decanters filled with liquors of various hues, and a 
few tumblers on whose upturned bottoms rested 
lemons. The air of that repulsive room was freighted 
with the fetid after-odor of tobacco, mingled with 
the fumes of rum, gin and whiskey, making a scent 
that no imagination can paint, no words depict. Ex- 
perience alone can give a knowledge of it. To know, 
one must smell. 

The habitual drinkers, and many that only occasion- 
ally took a social glass, together with some young 
men, attracted by what they might see and hear, were 
accustomed to gather in that malodorous hole. In 
winter, when the storms drove all indoors, they could 
be found there day and night; and in summer eve- 
nings, after the long day's work on the farms was 
over, they smoked clay and cob pipes, told yarns, 
sometimes salacious stories, retailed the gossip of the 
neighborhood, discussed the political questions of the 
hour, played checkers or cards, and the vanquished 
treated the victors. In summer they occasionally took 
a hand at baseball in some adjoining field, or pitched 
quoits in front of the tavern, or raced their plow- 
horses along the dusty road, and ended these con- 
tests by setting up drinks at the bar. By degrees 
appetite grew imperious, and some would not leave 
the barroom till the small hours of the morning, and 
then intoxicated go reeling home. Families were 
unutterably miserable, farms were neglected, scanty 



15b WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

incomes worse than wasted, and children ran about 
ragged. The hard drinkers were rapidly becoming 
physical, as they already were moral, wrecks. 

Now these abominable taverns were after all only 
a true exponent of the earlier and dominant notions 
of the neighborhood. At first, the drinking of intoxi- 
cating liquor was almost universal ; a total abstainer 
was a rare bird. Farm laborers as a matter of course 
expected whiskey as a beverage. In harvest time they 
never supposed that they could work without it. If 
a farmer were so singular as not to drink it himself, 
he bowed to the general custom and provided it for his 
hired men. While John Erskine, loathing the smell 
and taste of liquor, never drank a drop of it, he, never- 
theless, during the first years of his residence in our 
neighborhood, furnished whiskey for his help in 
haying and wheat harvesting. He used to relate a 
unique incident growing out of this. Filling a jug 
with whiskey for some men working in the hay field, 
he carelessly left about two quarts of the liquor ia the 
family water pail. When Aunt Lucy got supper, 
thinking that the whiskey was water, she emptied it 
into the teakettle. When at table, she first poured 
a cup of tea for an old toper who, on tasting it, 
smacked his lips and exclaimed, " I vow, that's good; 
it touches the right spot." Honest John took a sip 
from his cup. and laughing said. " Lucy, you've made 
your tea of whiskey." When to the merriment of all, 



TAVERNS AND TEMPERANCE 157 

he had explained the mystery, she found that un- 
wittingly she had made a tea-whiskey toddy, and 
the seasoned toper drank with avidity three cups 
of it. 

But when John was converted and made a deacon 
in the church, believing that whiskey ruined both the 
souls and bodies of men, he refused any longer to 
provide it for his farm-hands. Some of them, at the 
time of wheat-harvest, said that they would quit work 
unless they had it. But honest John replied, " I shall 
be sorry to lose you, but I can't give you a drop 
of whiskey if my wheat is never harvested." He had 
got his foot down and a thousand horsepower engine 
could not move it a hair's breadth. However, only 
one man left him; the rest, standing by him till the 
end of harvest, thanked him for their enforced absti- 
nence. 

John Erskine was among the foremost temperance 
reformers of our neighborhood. By word and deed 
he sustained every effort put forth to suppress drink- 
ing. He did what he could to induce temperance 
lecturers to come and speak to us. He deprecated 
the existence of the execrable taverns at Ramville and 
Lambshanks Corners, and with great earnestness 
warned the young men to keep out of those soul- 
destroying barrooms. 

But at last deliverance came. The Washingtonian 
temperance movement, that swept over most of the 



158 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

States of the North, invaded even our secluded com- 
munity. When the attention of a few of the more 
prominent and influential families was aroused, they 
began to agitate the subject of total abstinence in the 
houses of their neighbors, in the country store and 
in the churches. By this hand-to-hand discussion, 
general interest in the reformation of those given to 
drink grew rapidly. Temperance papers were now 
scattered far and wide. The pastors of the churches 
blew their trumpets with no uncertain sound. Mass- 
meetings were held, and the ablest speakers that we 
could secure harangued the already excited crowds. 
Young men and women, boys and girls, went to 
these temperance meetings in wagons or sleighs, fitted 
up to carry comfortably from thirty to forty, and 
drawn by two or three spans of horses, decked with 
banners on which w^ere temperance mottoes. At 
these popular gatherings temperance songs were 
sung by a great chorus, and the volume of sound 
was swelled by bass-viols, flutes, clarionets and 
flageolets. Many signed the total-abstinence pledge 
and were called teetotalers ; some, however, stood 
out stoutly against this, averring that they would not 
sign away their liberty. But in spite of all opposi- 
tion, the good work went right on, and not a few 
of the hard drinkers were reformed. The w^hole 
neighborhood was at fever-heat. Everybody was dis- 
cussing temperance. On all sides the people, while 



TAVERNS AND TEMPERANCE 159 

engaged in their daily work, could be heard singing 
temperance songs. A favorite one began, 

" Bright water for me, bright water for me. 
And wine for the tremulous debauchee, 
It^ cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain, 
It maketh the frame once strong again. 

Chorus 
Then fill, fill to the brim. 
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim, 
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain. 
It maketh the frame once strong again." 

This reformation gave to the whole neighborhood 
a higher moral tone, and the churches soon began to 
long for a still richer blessing. With wonderful una- 
nimity they began to pray for a revival. Coming to- 
gether night after night in their meeting-houses and in 
one of the schoolhouses, they besought God to awaken 
backsliders and regenerate and save impenitent sin- 
ners. They not only prayed but sang, usually the best 
hymns of Doddridge, Watts and Wesley, but in the 
schoolhouse their singing took on some free, rollicking 
songs that were very popular. This is one of them: 

" Where now is good, old Moses ? 
Where now is good, old Moses? 
Where now is good, old Moses? 
Safe in the promised land. 

He went up from Mount Nebo, 
He went up from Mount Nebo, 
He went up from Mount Nebo, 
Safe in the promised land. 

* This " It " refers to the water, not to the wine. 



160 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

By and by we'll go and meet him, 
By and by we'll go and meet him, 
By and by we'll go and meet him, 
Safe in the promised land." 



In the same way they sang of all the distinguished 
saints of the Old and New Testaments. I remember 
that Abel went up by acceptable sacrifice, Noah 
through a flood of waters, Daniel through a den of 
lions, Paul through a Roman dungeon, and so on 
to the end of the chapter. Though a homely, simple 
ditty it celebrated the triumphs of faith in the past, 
and expressed the confident expectation of heaven in 
the future. 

Moreover, all that attended these meetings had per- 
fect liberty in expressing their thoughts. A brave 
yottng man told those assembled that he could not 
become a Christian on account of the imperfections 
of professors of religion, and then went on to tell 
the mean things that some of them had done. A lay 
Presbyterian elder said in reply, that he had no word 
of defense for any wrong acts of church metnbers. 
" But," he added, " O young man, you do not know 
how imperfect professed Christians are, and you 
never will know until God by his spirit reveals to 
you the corruption of your own heart ! Then, and 
not till then, will you imderstand how bad we are. 
But as each man must live his own life, and die alone, 
and be judged for what he is and does, and not 



TAVERNS AND TEMPERANCE 161 

for the lives and acts of other men, it will be very 
foolish in you to stumble over the imperfections of 
professed Christians into hell." It was a straight 
talk on both sides, wholesome for both saints and 
sinners. 

But the prayers of God's people were marvelously 
answered. The entire community became thoughtful 
and serious. Two men, members of the same church, 
who had quarrelled and said hard things of each 
other, one night as they lay in bed began to think 
how wickedly they had acted. The divine Spirit 
touched both hearts at the same time. The next 
morning one of them started on horseback to find 
his brother, whom he had shamefully abused, that he 
might confess his fault and ask forgiveness. He 
found him making fence-posts by the roadside. They 
had not spoken to each other for months. Sitting 
on his horse he said, " Good morning." and was sur- 
prised that his salutation was heartily returned. He 
quickly dismounted. There was mutual confession 
and forgiveness, with tears of contrition. The shame- 
ful feud was ended, the hatchet was buried, and 
brotherly love was triumphant. 

When evening came, these reconciled brethren were 
at the prayer-meeting, where they publicly confessed 
their unbrotherly conduct and asked for forgiveness. 
The members of the church, seeing in this the answer 
to their prayers, were overjoyed. Another backslider 



162 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

present now rose up and said : " Brethren, my heart 
is Hke a lump of ice. Oh! that it would melt and 
run out of my eyes." It was evidently melting fast, 
for tears were wetting his hairy cheeks. And now 
the revival, so ardently prayed for, came in earnest. 
It spread through all the countryside. A year before 
all were talking about temperance ; now everybody 
was talking about religion. It was more than a re- 
vival ; not only were indifferent professors of reli- 
gion quickened, but those who had stood aloof from 
the churches were won to Christ. Most of those who 
had been reformed the preceding year were now 
transformed by the Spirit of God. Some old topers, 
untouched by the Washingtonian movement, repented, 
quit their cups and began a new life. The barrooms 
were deserted. The sale of liquor no longer profita- 
ble, the taverns, after a vain struggle, shut their 
doors. More than threescore years have since 
passed, but no inn nor saloon, nor any place where 
intoxicating liquor is sold, has ever since existed in 
that country neighborhood. The old taverns, that for 
years so deeply disgraced us and made so many house- 
holds wretched, have long since disappeared, — not 
a vestige of them remains. It. is sometimes possible 
to rid a community of liquor-selling, with all its at- 
tendant evils, without invoking the extraneous force 
of the law and the courts. 




CHAPTER IX 



FAMILY LIFE 



The character of a nation is determined and meas- 
ured by that of the average family. It will be in 
physical strength, courage, intelligence and morals 
what the families are of which it is made up. A 
clear conception of the family life of a typical, 
northern country neighborhood of seventy-five or 
eighty years ago will give us a glimpse of the founda- 
tion on which our Republic has been built. 

And, first of all, in most of the households of our 
neighborhood the husband and wife were really one. 
They were united in purpose and work. However, 
except in some extreme emergency, the women never 

163 



164 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

toiled in the fields; but they were so thoroughly 
acquainted with their husbands' afifairs that, when 
any exigency demanded it, they could wisely direct 
the farm-hands. Once when John Erskine was called 
away from home for a day, he left Aunt Lucy in 
charge of the outdoor work. He had hired a lad 
about seventeen years old to harrow a plowed field 
near the house. The young fellow, when he began 
his job, found that the cart stood on the corner of 
the lot that he was to harrow, and he insisted on its 
removal. Aunt Lucy said, " There is nobody here 
to take it away. Draw your drag around it." He 
refused to do it. She asked him why. He said, " I 
don't obey orders from women." She was not 
wrathy, but determined. She quietly walked up to 
him. took from his hand a black-snake whip, and 
thoroughly warmed his legs with it. She then handed 
the whip back to him and said, " Now, drag around 
that cart and go on with your work." He did so. 
He both took an order from a woman and was 
forced by her to obey it. While this was a unique 
act in her career, it reveals the firmness of her 
fibre. 

Now, beginning with the physical or outward life, 
let us ask, what did these pioneer families eat? In 
portraying their industries, I have in part already 
answered this question. They always had on their 
tables enough of wheat or corn bread ; milk, butter 



FAMILY LIFE 165 

and cheese ; fruit, fresh, dried or preserved ; sugar 
and syrup from their maples ; honey from their hives ; 
pie, apple, custard, currant, pumpkin or mince, — pie 
for breakfast, pie for dinner, pie for supper, — all 
the common garden vegetables, potatoes, beets, carrots, 
parsnips, beans, onions, cabbage, lettuce, and the ever- 
present cucumber pickle. They also had in their 
season, green corn, muskmelons and watermelons. 
But as to flesh diet, salt pork was the mainstay. 
Of course fresh spareribs, highly-seasoned sausages, 
cob- or hickory-smoked hams formed pleasant gastric 
interludes ; . while at long intervals a little fresh 
beef or mutton or chicken delighted our palates ; 
but when these infrequent episodes were past, we 
went back to salt side-pork. For our six o'clock 
breakfast it was sliced and fried. The lard tried out 
of it in cooking was poured over it on the platter. 
Each one at table was helped to a slice or two, with 
fried or boiled potato on which was poured a spoon- 
ful of the liquid lard, — that was our gravy. How 
we ever digested such fare is a mystery now, but we 
did, and flourished. Hard work on the farm made 
our digestion strong. Our dinner was at twelve, when 
our meat was usually boiled salt pork, and our des- 
sert the ubiquitous pie. Supper was served at five 
o'clock, and generally consisted of bread or hot bis- 
cuit and butter, sauce of some sort, pickles and pie. 
Occasionally for a relish a little dried beef was added, 



166 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

and in summer some lettuce. For drink we had cold 
water, weak tea and milk. 

But at times feasts broke up this dull monotony. 
Aunt Lucy had become famous for her occasional 
good dinners and suppers. Her numerous children 
and invited guests made a full and jolly table. At 
such times salt pork stayed in the barrel, while chicken, 
full-grown but fat and tender, took its place. A 
chicken-pie that filled the largest, deepest milkpan 
was placed before us, piping hot, from the great brick 
oven ; or a delicious pot-pie, plentifully stocked with 
balls of dough, light and cooked to a T, stood steam- 
ing on a great platter. Beside it was an ample dish 
of mashed potato, packed hard, with a cup-like scoop 
at the top filled with melting butter. Two or three 
other vegetables, new-made butter, creamy milk and 
fresh bread also tempted the appetite. For dessert 
there were custard and apple pies, so thick and fat 
and rich that they ,would have tempted the gods. 
But instead of pies. Aunt Lucy sometimes brought 
on one of her matchless rice puddings. In making 
it she had used eggs, perfectly fresh, and cream- 
laden milk, while all through the rice were plentifully 
scattered great, plump raisins. No pne ever partook 
of this dainty dish who did not long for another like 
it. After more than threescore years, it lures me still. 

But now and then her children and visiting rela- 
tives besought her for waffles, and always wanted 



FAMILY LIFE 167 

them for supper. She heard their greedy cry, mixed 
a great wooden bowlful of batter, made a hot fire 
in the kitchen stove, took down the waffle-irons from 
their shelf, anointed them with lard or butter, and 
filling them with batter, thrust them into the fire. 
How rapidly she turned out the waffles, piling them 
up one upon the other, in two stacks on a large, hot, 
earthen platter, and filling the holes in the surface 
of each cake in one stack with butter and maple 
syrup, and in the other with butter and honey. She 
kept on until the twin stacks of waffles were about 
sixteen inches high. Then all eagerly sat down at 
the table. When grace had been said, Aunt Lucy 
helped all bountifully to the hot cakes. She asked 
each feaster, "Syrup or honey?" While each pile 
of waffles was very popular, the one saturated and 
dripping with maple syrup usually carried off the 
palm. If, on any such occasion, the piled-up waffles 
proved insufficient for the voracious feasters. Aunt 
Lucy quickly cooked more, carrying them to the 
eaters hot from the irons, and each buttered and 
sweetened his portion to suit his taste. All ate till 
there was no room for more. At one of these feasts 
a small boy, a grandson of John Erskine, said with 
a sigh, " Oh, grandpa, my belt is so tight ! " One of 
John's sons said, " But weren't they ' waffle ' good ! " 
and the rest threatened to thrash him for such a 
" waffle " pun. 



168 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

But such feasts were very rare. All the people of 
the neighborhood lived frugally, as we have indi- 
cated above, content with abundant but plain food. / 

But what did the people wear? When I noted their 
home manufactures, I spoke of the gray cloth worn 
by men and boys, and the woolen and tow frocks 
by mothers and their daughters. But the usual, 
everyday summer dress of women was calico, and 
very pretty it was when new, while the variety in 
pattern added not a little to its charm. But most 
Sunday and party dresses were of richer material, 
alpaca, poplin, bombazine or silk. Now and then an 
elderly housewife managed, by careful saving, to buy 
herself a black silk gown, which she wore on Sun- 
days and festive occasions to the day of her death. 
The dress became a part of her personality, so that 
one could hardly think of her in other costume. If 
I should ever meet her in heaven, I should expect 
to see her in that black silk dress. 

As to common, every-day head-gear, all of the fair 
sex, old and young, wore sunbonnets of straw or 
some kind of cotton stuff, stiffened with pasteboard 
or whalebone. They projected beyond the face, and 
had a cape that covered the neck. It was a sensible, 
fitting head-covering. It shielded from the sun the 
face of maid and matron, and kept the skin free from 
tan and freckles. And when did the rosy countenance 
of a country lass ever look more beautiful and be- 



FAMILY LIFE 169 

witching than when, on some bright, sunny day, by 
chance one caught a gHmpse of it deep within a 
blue or white sunbonnet? .But for Sunday wear, the 
great ambition of the elderly ladies was to don a 
Leghorn bonnet, which, like their black silk dresses, 
they wore for a lifetime. 

The women also had calfskin shoes with low heels. 
The high heel, on which women are now stilted and 
made giddy, was then quite unknown in the country. 
Still the young women wore, at church and parties, 
white stockings and kid shoes or slippers, black, 
bronze or blue ; and it should be noted that as time 
went on there was a manifest change in dress from the 
coarser to the finer. 

But concerning the dress of men and boys, I can 
speak with better grace and greater authority, hav- 
ing more certain knowledge of it. We wore from 
day to day what befitted farmers ; in winter we 
donned our suits of home-made " sheep's gray." 
While neat in appearance, it was thick and warm. 
Although the mercury in winter was often at zero, 
very few overcoats were seen. The older men some- 
times indulged in them, but the young men and boys, 
with very rare exceptions, went without. Never 
having worn them, we youngsters felt no need of 
them. Nor did we have underclothing. The only 
shirts we had in winter were woolen, and we never 
•dreamed of such a superfluity as drawers. We simply 



170 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

crawled into our woolen shirts, jumped into our 
pants, pulled on our home-knit socks, put on our 
vests, coats, boots, caps and mittens, and, if the snow 
was deep, having tied or strapped our trousers firmly 
about our bootlegs just above our ankles, we were 
ready for the fiercest blasts of winter. In such 
scanty garb we experienced no great discomfort even 
in the coldest weather. If at times we shivered and 
our teeth chattered, we soon found relief in running, 
leaping, swinging our arms and slapping our hands. 
In winter we all donned caps, in summer, chip hats. 
Both men and boys wore pegged, stogy boots, kip- 
skin or cowhide ; but in warm weather all the boys, 
and even many young men in their teens, went bare- 
foot, while cotton shirts and cotton or tow pants 
replaced those of wool. 

But on Sunday we affected a higher style. If we 
still wore chip hats, they were neat and clean, having 
been bought specially for Sunday wear; but some 
of us had straw hats of which we were quite proud. 
We also often put on starched shirts, some even 
wore linen collars with neckties of various hues. A 
few appeared in narrow, black satin stocks and black 
satin vests. Moreover, there were trousers of fus- 
tian or corduroy or velveteen or kersey, and coats 
of cheap broadcloth, and some wore even calfskin 
boots. I remember having become the proud owner 
of a black satin stock and vest, some fustian panta- 



FAMILY LIFE 171 

loons and a pair of the coveted calfskin boots. Hav- 
ing been permitted to purchase them for myself, 
wishing to appear as genteel as possible, I selected a 
pair a size too small for me. How fine my little feet 
looked ! I am sure that I was the proudest boy in 
all the neighborhood, but what torture I endured ! 
It did seem to me when at church that the sermon 
would never end, while my poor feet throbbed and 
ached. Sin in that case was certainly its own pun- 
isher, and the punishment was ruthlessly meted out. 
Almost every week the shoemaker stretched my pre- 
cious boots and, persevering in my pride, when they 
were about half worn out, they became tolerably easy ; 
but retribution for that boyish vanity continued for 
years in stinging corns. 

On Sunday in summer, John Erskine always wore 
a straw hat, dark gray pants, a black cloth vest, a 
kersey or linen coat, and calfskin boots. The boots 
must have been of the best quality, for they lasted 
him for many years. His dress was very fitting to 
himself and his surroundings, attracting attention 
neither by its shabbiness nor by its fineness. In win- 
ter he often put on a suit of home-made cloth, with 
brass buttons and a soft black hat or cap. 

In person the people, take them as a whole, were 
fairly cleanly, although there was not a bathroom in 
the whole neighborhood. Here and there to be sure 
there was a portable tin bathtub, that was occasionally 



172 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

used ; but most of the people in summer took a bath 
only once a week in a washtub. Of course they 
washed their hands and faces before each meal, but 
as to full baths they were irregular and too often 
quite neglected. To secure them in the hot days of 
summer, we youngsters resorted to various expedients. 
On Saturday nights we often went in groups to the 
great creek, that skirted our neighborhood on the 
south, or to the millpond, where we dove and splashed 
and swam, and, after rubbing down, put on clean 
clothes. So, in various ways, we were fairly washed 
at the close of the week. I remember, too, that during 
showers I sometimes stood under the waterspout, 
through which poured the rainwater from the roof 
of the wheat-barn. This gave me an invigorating 
shower-bath direct from the clouds. An ingenious 
brother of mine put up a rude shower-bath in the 
horse bam, beneath which we were often refreshed 
during the sweltering days of July and August. But 
when winter came, bathing so far as possible was 
avoided. Who could blame us? We slept in rooms 
without a particle of heat. W^e jumped out of bed 
into a freezing atmosphere in which we saw the fog- 
like vapor of our breath. So we quickly got into 
our ice-cold clothes, ran to the warm kitchen, hastily 
cleansed our hands and faces, and sallied forth 
through the creaking snow to do our morning chores. 
Through all the winter we seldom washed from top 



FAMILY LIFE 173 

to toe. Would those who now bathe in heated rooms 
and in tepid water have done better than we, had 
they hved as we did? 

Leaving the physical, we turn now to the intel- 
lectual life. In this, as in other things, there was 
no uniformity. Families with the same surroundings 
dififered from each other in mental discipline and in- 
telligence. Still, all of them to some extent appre- 
ciated the worth of education. They gladly sent their 
children to the district schools, and cheerfully paid 
the school taxes. All the adults of our neighborhood, 
save one, could read and write. Almost all of them 
took either a weekly secular or religious paper, and 
many of them took both. They read them thoroughly, 
advertisements and all. To be sure they were too 
apt, even as men are now, to take what their papers 
said as law and gospel. But even partisan informa- 
tion was better than none. These weekly journals 
kept them in touch with what was going on in the 
nation and, to some extent, in the world, even though 
the ocean cable was not then dreamed of. 

In some families the papers were read in the eve- 
ning to all in the household who wished to hear, and 
all were urged to listen. 

At John Erskine's, Aunt Lucy was often the reader. 
The lamp-stand was brought out from the corner 
where it stood in the daytime, and placed at the 
center of the sitting room. On it stood a tin or iron 



174 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

candlestick, in which was a tallow dip. Beside the 
candlestick lay the snuffers on a short brass tray. 
Honest John and the children sat in a semicircle 
around either the sheet-iron stove or the open fire- 
place. When the candle was lighted, Aunt Lucy 
began to read the news and editorials of the religious 
weekly, regarding that as most important. She stopped 
now and then to snuff the candle that had become 
too dim, while John and some of the older children 
asked questions about certain items of news that they 
had not clearly understood. She re-read these that 
they might get the facts lucidly in mind. Then she 
read the editorials, and they fell into discussion over 
them, in which she took a hand. They became so 
absorbed in debate that before they were aware of 
it, bedtime had come. 

On the following evening the oldest son, who had 
already become something of a politician, read to 
the family the political news and editorials of the 
New York Weekly Tribune. Just as the night 
before, the reading was punctured by questions and 
discussions. Such readings and debates went on, 
irregularly it may be, week after week, and while 
all the families of our neighborhood did not do this, 
it was a custom that widely prevailed. A community 
of such households could not fail to become fairly 
intelligent. 

Then in almost every house there were some books. 



FAMILY LIFE 175 

All had the Bible and most of the people read it ; 
while Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, Sparks' Life of 
Washington, some popular history of the Revolu- 
tionary War, Milton's Paradise Lost, Thomson's 
Seasons, and Pollock's Course of Time were found 
in many houses. Moreover, each of the three churches 
and each school district had a small library from 
which books could be drawn. These books awakened 
in some minds a love of reading which led to higher 
intellectual attainments. Still, I can never forget 
how some books from the Sunday school library 
discouraged and depressed me. They were biogra- 
phies of Christian boys in whose characters I could not 
find a single flaw. If it meant that to be a Christian, 
then I concluded that my case was hopeless. So the 
flawless characters, instead of attracting, repelled me. 
They seemed uncanny. They did not belong to my 
world. I found relief in turning to the Bible, where 
men of God were represented as imperfect. Jacob 
during a part of his life was a cheat; Abraham, the 
father of the faithful, lied; Peter, the foremost 
apostle, denied his Lord, cursed and swore ; and 
even John wanted fire to drop from heaven and burn 
up those who differed from him and his Master. 
These sins of the saints comforted me, and I began 
to think that I might perhaps be a saint, too. How- 
ever, it took me some years to find out that there 
never were any such boys as those depicted in the 



176 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

Sunday school books ; that the authors had mentioned 
only the virtues of those whose lives they had at- 
tempted to write, and had said nothing of their faults ; 
while the Bible painted even the best of men just 
as they were, warts and all. Still, in justice I must 
say that those immaculate boys, pure creations of the 
imagination, were an ideal which revealed to me my 
own great defects and kindled within me some de- 
sire for a better life ; but the Bible in truthfully 
portraying men as they were inspired me with hope. 
The books of the school-district library were mostly 
historical and biographical. They gave us at least 
some just notion of European wars, especially those 
of England and France, also the main facts pertain- 
ing to the colonies and our Revolutionary war. As 
boys w^e were specially charmed and excited by the 
history of battles. Napoleon fired our imagination, 
and we debated with each other concerning his char- 
acter and campaigns. Some extravagantly praised 
him, while others with equal extravagance called him 
a bloody monster. But Washington was our perfect 
hero. Wc thoroughly believed in him, hatchet, cherry- 
tree and all. We never told a lie but that the re- 
membrance of him reproved us. His charmed life, 
when be led the forlorn hope at Braddock's defeat, 
his unruffled patience at \''alley Forge, his calm 
courage in crossing the Delaware, his final triumph 
at Yorktown. made him in our boyish eyes the hero 



FAMILY LIFE 177 

of heroes. But among our favorite books was 
Wirt^'s Life of Patrick Henry. We often declaimed 
at school the speech of the immortal Virginian, end- 
ing with the words, " Give me liberty or give me 
death." So the school library not only stimulated 
and developed our intellectual life, but it also awoke 
within us a national patriotism. 

The debating societies, which in winter met in the 
school-houses, were also a mental stimulus. They 
were made up of young men and old. At times they 
discussed some very frivolous questions. For a 
whole evening I heard mature men debate the fol- 
lowing resolution : " Resolved, that the horse is a 
greater benefit to mankind than the ox " ; for another 
evening, the somewhat higher question : " Resolved, 
that there is more pleasure in anticipation than in 
participation." But they often debated subjects of 
greater importance, such as the tarifif, nullification, 
the annexation of Texas, the abolition of slavery, 
temperance in alcoholic drinks or total abstinence. 
Once, when they discussed the last question, the school- 
house was crowded, showing how greatly the people 
were interested in the problem which so deeply in- 
volved their happiness. I can never forget that 
packed house, the people bubbling over with excite- 
ment, since I then made my maiden public speech 
and took the crowd by storm, especially when, in 
momentary embarrassment, I spoke of " a great and 



178 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

extinguished man." For this ludicrous blunder my 
family and cronies for days laughingly guyed me. 

But the religious life of the most influential fam- 
ilies among us was the crown and glory of our neigh- 
borhood. While some households were irreligious 
and godless, a large majority of them said grace 
before meat, and some of them when they came to 
their tables craved God's blessing and, after eating, 
gave him thanks. Full half of them also had once 
a day, and some of them twice, family worship. 
More than once I spent several days at John Erskine's 
in harvest time. Every morning before breakfast his 
family assembled in his spacious kitchen. All his 
harvest hands were invited to join them. Although 
he was a strenuous pusher in farm work, for that 
half-hour of devotion he acted as if there were no 
work on earth except to worship God. Reverently 
opening the family Bible, he deliberately read a por- 
tion of it, clearly enunciating every word. To him 
it was a message direct from God. \\^hen the last 
word of it had been uttered, there was a moment 
of solemn silence. He was evidently thinking of 
what God had just spoken to him; then, falling on 
his knees, he began in turn to speak to God. His 
prayer was short, earnest and tender. No one listen- 
ing could well doubt that God was right there and 
John Erskine was talking to him face to face, pour- 
ing his heart, swelling with emotion, into God's heart. 



FAMILY LIFE 179 

He thanked the Lord for blessings temporal and 
spiritual. When sometimes in special trouble, he 
said : " We thank Thee, O Lord, that it is as well 
with us as it is." At times he uttered this peti- 
tion for himself : " O Lord, forgive our sins, blot out 
our transgressions, we want to be right with Thee." 
He prayed fervently for the prosperity of the church, 
the salvation of his neighbors, and the conversion of 
the whole world. This reminded him of the means 
for its accomplishment and he added: " O Lord, bless 
the young men studying at Hamilton, make them 
faithful ministers of the New Testament, and raise 
up many more to preach the Gospel, for the harvest 
is great and the laborers are few." But the climax 
of his petitions was for his children, whom he called 
" our dear ones " ; his heart seemed to swell up into 
his throat; there was a momentary pause. God, in 
his thought, became his own personal possession, and 
when utterance broke through the barrier of emo- 
tion, he exclaimed : " O my Lord ! " It was a godly 
father in travail of soul for the regeneration of his 
offspring. 

Occasionally, after reading the scripture lesson, he 
would ask Aunt Lucy to pray. To his request she 
always cheerfully responded. She was more fluent 
in speech than he, and her petitions often took a 
broader sweep than his. She frequently prayed : 
" O Lord, open every door for the gospel among 



180 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

all nations." Here were two souls, busy day in and 
day out with their manifold duties on the farm and 
in the farmhouse, that had come into such intimate 
fellowship with Christ that their sympathy, like his, 
encircled the whole earth. 

They had family worship again in the evening, and 
faithfully maintained it as long as they both lived. 
In this they were not peculiar ; with suggestive varia- 
tions of manner, in house after house throughout that 
primitive neighborhood could be daily heard the voice 
of i)rayer and praise. Such a fact suggests, with 
one slight change, the familiar lines of Burns : 

" From scenes like these our country's grandeur springs. 
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad. 
Princes and lords are' but the breath of kings, 
' An honest man's the noblest work of God.' " 

These households of prayer were noted for their 
hospitality. Strangers asking for food and lodging 
were seldom turned away. Honest John never shut 
his door in the face of any man asking for food 
and shelter. Indians, that could not speak a dozen 
words of English, partook of his bounty. Some of 
them were beggars. They asked for pork, which they 
called " quishquish," and got it. Asking, when 
thirsty, for water, which they, like the Romans, called 
" aqua," they drank freely at his well. But a family 
of Tonawandas, by the name of Parker, greatly in- 



FAMILY LIFE 181 

terested the entire neighborhood. They w'ere fairly- 
well-to-do. Mr. Parker was a farmer, but in the 
winter made Indian baskets. Each year after the 
wheat harvest was over, he started out with a wagon- 
load of them, and peddled them through several town- 
ships. His wife and two sons often went with him. 
One of these sons, Ely Parker, graduated at West 
Point, and for several years was Comptroller of the 
State of New York, and in the Civil War served on 
the staff of General Grant. On account of the ex- 
cellence of his penmanship, he was chosen to engross 
the terms of surrender at Appomattox. The Parkers, 
when on their peddling tours, more than once stayed 
over night with Erskine, in part perhaps because 
Parker, like Honest John, was a Baptist deacon. 

But Erskine at times stretched the virtue of hos- 
pitality quite beyond reason and prudence. One 
summer evening there came to his door a greasy, 
nasty, unkempt Italian Jew. He could speak but few 
words of our language. He looked like a man that 
might cut your throat for half a dollar. He asked 
for supper and bed. " Yes," said John. Aunt Lucy 
and her children, out of fear, protested. In reply 
Erskine merely quoted a verse of scripture : " Be not 
forgetful to entertain strangers ; for thereby some 
have entertained angels unawares." There was no 
help for it ; the lord of the castle had spoken. When 
the repulsive stranger had eaten heartily, he was 



182 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

given a bedroom in the second story of the house, 
where, on the same floor, Erskine's sons and daugh- 
ters slept. The doors had neither locks nor fasten- 
ings of any kind. His children slept feverishly that 
night, with one eye open. But the malodorous guest 
snored in contentment. He was astir early the next 
morning. He ate and departed. At breakfast the 
children told their father that they felt very sure 
that that stranger was no angel; if he was, he hid 
his wings ; instead of being robed in white, he was 
robed in dirt, and they concluded that, if he came 
from heaven, it must be a very nasty place ; but 
their father was happy in having tried to help a 
poor fellow who, by divine grace, might perchance 
become an angel. 




CHAPTER X 



SOCIAL LIFE 



All men have a strong social instinct, that reaches 
out for fellowship beyond the individual household. 
So the families of our neighborhood, like drops of 
water, intermingled, forming a larger society. We 
were molded, we knew not when nor how, into a 
compact brotherhood, having identical interests, aspira- 
tions and hopes. 

During the earlier history of the neighborhood, its 
social life found expression in the unheralded, informal 
calls made by one or more families on another. In a 
busy farming community, such calls were usually in 
the evening, and more frequent in winter than in other 

183 



184 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

seasons of the year. Those thus thrown unexpectedly 

together, of course freely talked over things of common 

interest, asked after each other's health, discussed the 

best remedies for any prevailing epidemic, and made 

the usual trite observations on the weather. How 

many poor mortals, either in the country or the city, 

would be quite dumb in society, if they were never 

again permitted to speak about the weather, over 

which they have not the slightest control, and for 

w'hich they are in no degree responsible. However, 

such trivial themes soon gave way to graver topics, 

which were frequently shrewdly handled. Then, those 

who had informally met became reminiscent, and told 

stories of their past lives. To a group of neighbors, 

gathered around my father's open fireplace, I often 

listened, when a small boy, with breathless interest, 

during a long evening, as the\' told blood-curdling 

stories of bears and painters. They never called 

the latter beast puma or panther. They told of 

hair-breadth escapes as painters leaped at them from 

the trees. For a long time afterwards, whenever I 

went through the woods, shivering fear ran in waves 

down my spine as, tripping on hastily with upturned 

eyes, I searched the branches above me for some 

crouching painter ; however, I never found one until 

one day I visited a menagerie. Such neighborly visits 

and chit-chats relieved the dull monotony of farm life, 

and in a measure satisfied our yearning for society. 



SOCIAL LIFE 185 

We, however, found a more common meeting- 
place at the store. Let no one of the present genera- 
tion proudly claim that the department store is of 
recent origin. Long ago in our country neighborhood 
there was one where you could buy anything from a 
paper of pins to an ox-yoke or a log-chain, from a chip 
hat to a pair of cowhide boots, and from a calico dress 
or a roll of ribbon to a plug of tobacco, or a quart 
of molasses. Here, too, was the post-office, and here 
the people of the neighborhood naturally gathered. 
Evenings and stormy days it was a general rendezvous 
for men. Here they smoked their clay pipes and cheap 
cigars, gossiped, joked, talked politics and swapped 
yarns. They warmly discussed slavery and the tarifif. 
Never having read much, their debates were usually 
rather meagre in thought, and since each one detailed 
simply what he had gleaned from his weekly political 
paper, their positions and utterances were one-sided 
and partisan. But hearing both sides presented led the 
more intelligent to do some independent thinking. I 
remember well hearing them one day discuss protec- 
tion versus free trade. The contention was earnest, 
but altogether good-natured. At the height of it, who 
should come in but a self-conceited Whig, James 
Bean, who had the New York Tribune's arguments 
for protection at his tongue's end. With flaming ardor 
he threw himself into the fray. He was voluble, in- 
cessantly so ; no one could get in edgewise a syllable 



186 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ill opposition to his, or Greeley's views. With ap- 
parent erudition, he illustrated his arguments from 
the history of economics and from present transactions 
in the market. In every utterance he seemed to say, 

" I am Sir Oracle, 
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark." 

In this case, no dog got a chance to bark ; but a 
small vessel soon runs dry, and in four or five minutes 
we got the last feeble squirt from this protection keg ; 
and then Jim, as the boys called him, with an air of 
triumph, marched out of the store, shutting the door 
with a bang, as much as to say, " Answer that if you 
can." 

For a moment there was profound silence. Of 
course all knew that we had just listened to a smart 
declamation from the columns of the Tribune, de- 
livered with correctness and unusual vehemence. 
Oscar Gooch broke the silence, not with an altogether 
original, but a pat, remark: "Well, what that man 
don't know would make a very large book ! " This 
was followed by a burst of laughter, clapping of hands 
and stamping of feet. 

Oscar Gooch was a peculiar character. His ances- 
try was Dutch, but he had been thoroughly Yankee- 
ized. He was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, 
muscular and rawboned. He never wore whiskers, 
and evidently shaved at least twice a week. His cor- 



SOCIAL LIFE 187 

duroy pants were thrust into the legs of heavy, cow- 
hide boots, and he usually wore a dilapidated chip 
hat. Free and easy in his way of living, while an 
industrious worker, he accumulated very little prop- 
erty. He and his family were somewhat poorly 
housed, clothed and fed ; yet they always seemed con- 
tented and happy. He was quite free from self-con- 
ceit, in fact he regarded himself as a country bump- 
kin. He, however, underestimated himself. He had 
a clear mind, broad humor, quick wit, and was quite 
a favorite with the boys. He could tell a good story 
in few words so as to bring down the house. 

Sometimes the store-loungers vied with each other 
in preposterous, ridiculous yarns. One day Tom Jones 
said that he had found out how to keep from being 
bitten by mosquitoes at night. " How do you do it, 
Tom?" asked half a dozen. "Why," he replied, "I 
just put in large letters on a poster at the foot of my 
bed, STICK NO BILLS HERE ; and it works like a 
charm." This was greeted with a hearty laugh, and 
then Pete Roach said : " Out on the Mississippi River 
are the biggest, most bloodthirsty mosquitoes on the 
continent. A man, driven half mad by them, turned a 
caldron kettle over him to keep them off. but they 
stuck their bills right through it. Having a hammer 
in his hand, he clinched them on the inside. Unable 
to pull their bills out, they just flew away, carrying 
the kettle with them." Over that there was a 



188 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

long", loud guffaw. And as no one was able to say 
anything more utterly absurd in the mosquito line, 
they began to tell astounding stories about horses, but 
in these yarns Gooch reached the climax. He said, 
" You know Sam Hunger's three-year-old colt, don't 
you?" "Yes," they said, "and it's an awful fine 
colt." " Yes," responded Gooch, " and it can run 
faster than any boss on earth. You know that big 
thunderstorm last Tuesday afternoon, don't you ? " 
" Of course we do, but what's that got to do with the 
colt?" "Why," he replied, "I saw the lightning, 
when it rained hardest, chase that colt three times 
around an eight-acre lot, just two lengths of the fence 
behind, and it couldn't catch him — it just gave it up. 
There isn't another such boss made." ■ We may not 
be able to explain it, but there is humor in such fantas- 
tic exaggeration. The crowd, their sides shaking with 
laughter, said that Gooch had taken the cake, and they 
set up for all, doughnuts and a lemonade. Happily the 
store had nothing stronger. 

On a rainy day, Ambrose Hutchinson was one of 
the company that loitered in the store. Ambrose, 
while an industrious farmer, managed to read not only 
some of the best political papers, but also a goodly 
number of excellent books. What he read he thor- 
oughly digested. By his studious habits he became a 
fairly well-educated man. Conscious of his intellec- 
tual strength, he greatly enjoyed getting into contro- 



SOCIAL LIFE 189 

versy with his neighbors. So, as soon as he appeared 
in the store, he went into quite an elaborate argument 
in favor of the annexation of Texas. Though positive 
and dogmatic, the crowd Hked him as a man, and lis- 
tened to him patiently. At last, however, Gooch broke 
in upon his discourse. "Now, "said he, "Ambrose, 
stop right there." Then, rehearsing the main points of 
Hutchinson's argument, he added, " As sure's you're 
born, Ambrose, there's no foundation for your basis." 
Gooch's ludicrous bull provoked such boisterous mer- 
riment that, for a few minutes, all business in the 
store was suspended, while both the storekeeper and 
the loungers, laughing till they shed tears, were say- 
ing to each other, " There's no foundation for your 
basis ; " and we heard no more that day about the 
annexation of Texas. 

Some men of our neighborhood never lounged at 
the store. Prominent among them was John Erskine. 
He used to say to his sons, who sometimes lingered 
there to hear the jokes and stories and share in the 
fun, " Don't fool away time at the store ; the store- 
keeper don't want you around, and what you see and 
hear will be of no benefit. Never treat anybody to 
anything, nor let any one treat you ; there's no good 
in it." It was the soundest advice, and if not always 
heeded, it could never be forgotten. 

The churches, also, in an indirect but effective way, 
satisfied our desire for social life. Every Sunday 



190 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

most of the families of the neighborhood met at the 
meeting-houses. They came afoot, on horseback, in 
buggies and wagons, or, when snow covered the 
ground, in cutters and sleighs. They vied with each 
other in horses and rigs. They chatted with one an- 
other, as they hitched their teams under the long shed 
back of the meeting-house. Usually getting to the 
church fifteen or twenty minutes before service, they 
gathered before the door on the broad, roofless plat- 
form, or, on stormy or wintry days, in the roomy 
vestibule, where stood the great box stoves, which 
warmed, or were intended to warm, the audience room, 
and there shook hands and heartily conversed with 
each other. The elder also often appeared among us, 
enlivening all with his cheery greeting. When a boy, 
those moments of social intercourse were to me the 
brightest and most enjoyable of the whole week. 

After the morning service came the Sunday School, 
where the children and their teachers met ; the grown- 
ups had a Bible class by themselves. At the close of 
the school, we had half an hour or more before the 
afternoon sermon, to talk and eat our luncheon. Our 
conversation, far from being distinctively religious, 
was about the district school, the spelling-matches, our 
sports, farm-work, calves and colts. But one man, 
Horton Bean, of whom I shall more particularly speak 
before my story is done, used often to talk to us so 
earnestly and cheerfully about the Lord Jesus and His 



SOCIAL LIFE 191 

willingness to save us from sin, that we boys were 
always glad to see and hear him. 

The afternoon service was always rather wearisome 
to the boys. Not that the good old elder did not 
preach well — he always did ; but already having had 
a sermon, a Sunday School and two socials, we were 
nearly tired out. When a jug is full you can't pour 
any more into it. And this was as true of our elders 
as of ourselves. Some of the hard-working farmers 
would get drowsy under the mellifluous tones of the 
preacher. Sitting in the gallery and looking down 
upon those in the pews, I sometimes saw a tobacco- 
chewer sleeping, his head fallen backward, his mouth 
wide open, revealing on his tongue a generous quid — 
" cud " we called it — of tobacco ; and instead of 
listening to the sermon as I should have done, I kept 
thinking what would happen if, in his nap, he should 
swallow it ! 

But even the prayer-meetings contributed to our 
social enjoyment. In the winter many attended them. 
Both men and women prayed, and with united hearts 
and voices sang familiar hymns. They told their 
Christian experiences, and counseled one another in 
reference to spiritual things, which, as some of the 
older brethren said, " took hold on eternal realities." 
This was social intercourse on a high plane. It was 
also strictly democratic. There were no class dis- 
tinctions. All stood on the same level. However 



192 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

poor in this world's goods, or deficient in education, 
they belonged to the elite of the earth, the godly whom 
the Lord " has set apart for himself." Such inter- 
course was a foretaste of the " social joys " of heaven. 

Moreover, the singing-school, held each winter in 
one of the meeting-houses, was an important social 
factor. Everybody was urged to join it, and, for a 
very small fee, receive instruction in the rudiments of 
music. Each season we began with the musical scale, 
and from that went on to the singing of strains and 
tunes. We seldom had any musical instrument to lead 
us, but were given the key of the tune by a steel pitch- 
pipe; still, at times we received such help from flute, 
flageolet, or bass-viol as amateur musicians could 
afford us. 

Usually at the close of the school we gave an Old 
Folks' Concert. We then dressed like men and women 
in " ye goode olden tyme ; " wore bufif vests, ruffled 
shirts, yellow or white breeches, reaching to the knees, 
with long stockings and knee buckles, blue coats with 
brass buttons, and powdered wigs. When we could 
not secure enough of such dresses to go around, tog- 
ging ourselves out as best we could, we presented a 
rather motley scene of commingled ancient and mod- 
ern costumes ; and this added to the amusement of the 
crowd. Crowd it was, since the wdiole neighborhood, 
old and young, turned out to hear and see — especially 
to see. During the concert the steel pitch-pipe a part 



SOCIAL LIFE 193 

of the time gave place to one more ancient. This was 
a thin wooden box, into which the chorister blew. 
At one end of it was a slide, which, being slipped back- 
ward and forward along a graduated scale, indicated 
any key that might be desired. Then, from buckwheat 
notes, we sang some old tunes with tKeir bewildering 
fugues — the real fugue, the inverted fugue, the 
double fugue — filling the air with heterogeneous 
sounds ; strains, one in a higher, another in a lower 
key, answered to each other and sometimes chased 
each other in almost breathless haste, till all at last 
ended in restful harmony. Such tunes, sung with 
spirit by a large chorus, even if the performance were 
rustic and crude, gave to the people exquisite enjoy- 
ment. It was their opera. Then there were tunes in 
the minor key, which reached the core of our hearts 
and stirred, gently but profoundly, our tenderest emo- 
tions. I can never forget the haunting lines of a 
hymn sung in that key, 



" Spare us, O Lord, aloud we pray. 
Nor let our sun go down at noon ; 
Thy years are one eternal day, 
And must thy children die so soon?"* 

An occasional hymn and time of that sort now 
would restore to our song-service an element of power 

* Winchell's Watts, Hymn 6ig, Psalm 102, 2d Part, L. M. 2d Stanza. Windham. 
Denton. 



194 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

that we have unwisely permitted to drop out of it. 
Old as such music is, it would be new to the present 
generation. 

Now, the singing-school, and the choirs that it en- 
gendered and fostered, did much to satisfy our social 
wants. Singing together was itself a rare social joy; 
but we met before the school opened and had our talks, 
quips and fun. When our musical drill was about half 
through, we had an intermission for fresh air, con- 
versation and romps. Some of us boys were fully as 
much interested in the girls as in the singing, and at 
the close of the school each lad, with some fear of a 
rebuff, offered to see some lass to her home. If he did 
not get the mitten, he proudly sallied forth with her 
on foot, or in a cutter, drawn by a spirited horse girt 
with jingling bells. Then when her home was reached, 
the lingering parting at the gate — why should I tell 
it all ? 

Moreover, the church sewing-circles were no in- 
significant element in the social life of the neighbor- 
hood. These circles, to which of course only women 
belonged, were, like all their kith and kin, benevolent 
associations. The members of them met at stated 
times in private houses, and sewed for the sick and 
poor among us, for poverty-stricken ministerial stu- 
dents, and for destitute home missionaries out on the 
western frontier. As they sewed, they talked ; while 
their needles flew, their tongues wagged. They blessed 



SOCIAL LIFE 195 

the needy with their fingers, and one another with 
their words. While they clothed the naked, they sat- 
isfied their craving for society. If now and then some 
unruly tongue, " set on fire by hell," stabbed a price- 
less reputation, for the most part the conversation was 
at least innocuous, if not Christian. 

Each one that entertained the circle, at the close of 
the day gave a tea to all present. Then the hostess 
spread her table with the best that she could command, 
set before her guests cups of steaming, fragrant tea ; 
light, hot saleratus biscuit ; fresh, golden butter ; 
maple syrup or clover honey or both ; her best cheese ; 
a little sliced, dried beef ; thick, rich custard pie ; and 
cucumber pickles. Often the things that tempted 
their appetites led them to discuss culinary art — the 
best method of making this or that. 

It was customary to invite to this supper the gentle- 
men belonging to the family of the hostess. So it 
came to pass, on a time, that one of the most facetious 
characters of our neighborhood sat at the table with 
the ladies of the Methodist sewing-circle. This tall, 
robust, round-headed, brown-haired, blue-eyed, open- 
faced man was always bubbling over with fun. If a 
shadow ever fell athwart his path, no one ever knew 
it. He seemed to live in perpetual sunshine. He saw 
the ludicrous side of everything. He often laughed at 
the most solemn things in the services of the church ; 
not because he was irreverent, but because something 



196 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

in them suggested to his mind some grotesque image. 
By trade he was a carpenter and joiner, but always 
called himself a " wood-shark." His jocosity broke 
out under all circumstances. Riding one day on horse- 
back along one of the country roads when a thunder- 
storm was approaching, he dismounted at a man's 
gate, ran swiftly up the walk to the front door of the 
house, and knocked with all his might, as though he 
had some vastly important message, the delivery of 
which could not be delayed for a moment. The owner 
of the house hurried to the door and. quickly opening 
it, nervously asked, " What's the matter? " When the 
joker, with apparent earnestness and anxiety, an- 
swered, " The top of your chimney is open and " — 
pointing to the coming shower — "it will rain in if 
you don't cover it up." Turning on his heel he hurried 
back to his horse, hastily remounted, and rode off at 
great speed, leaving the householder standing in the 
doorway and shaking his sides with laughter. Now, 
this practical joker, his face brimming with merriment, 
sat at tea with the ladies of the sewing-circle. They 
were discussing their different methods of making 
cucumber pickles. One of them, tasting a very sour 
pickle, said. " Now. this is too sharp." He at once ran 
the pickle fork into another, full half an inch through, 
with a round, blunt end. and feeling the end with his 
forefinger, said with great apparent gravity and polite- 
ness, " Here is one, madam, that isn't sharp." And 



SOCIAL LIFE 197 

Sam's joke at the supper of the sewing-circle was soon 
on every tongue. 

We also had, once in a great while, church socials 
that were held in private houses. They were much 
like the more modern article. We all came together, 
looked each other in the face, asked " How are ye ? " 
profoundly observed " This has been a fine day," and 
inquired of each other how the cattle and sheep were 
standing the hard winter. By degrees the young folks 
became segregated in the kitchen or the chamber 
above, when there was often fun and frolic, lively and 
loud, and sometimes, on the sly, a little love-making. 
The entertainment was usually brought to a close by 
an abundant and substantial supper, such as the coun- 
tryside afforded, at which the elder usually spoke some 
cheery words and offered thanks. Then, of course, — 
and this we thought the best of it, — the boys went 
home with the girls. Let no one now say, " How 
stupid it must have been ! " It was of great worth to 
us, since for a short time it lifted us out of our ruts, 
enlarged our sympathies and strengthened our friend- 
ships. 

Each year brought, too, its donation parties. Money 
was not plenty, some of the church-members were 
stingy, and the salaries of the preachers were meagre 
and mean ; so they were eked out by donations. The 
donation party was usually held at the pastor's house, 
and each one, without anv consultation with others. 



198 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

brought what he or. she thought might be useful to the 
minister and his family ; so there was a great deal of 
random and useless giving. Sometimes there was a 
glut of fancy slippers, broidered handkerchiefs, socks 
and mittens. But the farmers bountifully provided for 
the pastor's table, piling up in his kitchen, flour, corn 
meal, salt pork, hams, sausages, chickens, potatoes, 
turnips and cabbages. A committee appointed for the 
purpose appraised what was donated and, at the close 
of the evening, its total value was duly announced. 
Many regarded the donation as an act of benevolence, 
when in fact the church and community were poorly 
paying the preacher in produce for his manifold serv- 
ices in spiritual things. It was indeed no more a dona- 
tion than the payment of a note would be. John 
Erskine, while never behind the very chief of con- 
tributors at the donation parties, always protested 
against them. He urged that the pastor should have 
an adequate salary, so that he could purchase what he 
needed and when he needed it. instead of being bur- 
dened with a superabundance on some given evening 
in the year, much of which, being superfluous, he could 
never use at all. But these donations revealed a curi- 
ous and suggestive fact ; many, who could not be in- 
duced to give money to support the preacher, con- 
tributed quite freely articles that in the market would 
readily have brought them considerable cash. Is it 
imiversally true that money always looks a little more 



SOCIAL LIFE 199 

precious to men than things, however valuable they 
may be ? 

But the donation party was of great worth to us all. 
It was an attempt, however bungling, to do good to 
the most important man in the community. It made 
us think of somebody beside ourselves. All the givers 
were happy. A very small degree of self-forgetfulness 
engenders joy. Meeting in order to help another, the 
party became one of ths most important social events 
of the entire year. 

But at times, wholly aside from church activities and 
ignoring denominational lines, the young people of the 
neighborhood had parties purely for social purposes. 
Of course those that attended them were specially in- 
vited. This sometimes gave rise to heart-burnings; 
some that received no invitation, feeling themselves 
slighted, were resentful. One day I heard Aunt Lucy 
giving sage advice to one of her sons, who felt hurt 
because he had not been invited to a neighborhood 
party. She said to him : " Never wish to go where 
you're not wanted. Then, you don't know why you 
were not invited ; it may have been a mere oversight. 
None of us is of any great importance. And if it is an 
intended slight, you shouldn't care — one man's just 
as good as another, if he behaves himself. If you 
have proper self-respect, you won't care a fig for the 
slight." I am sure that her son could never have been 
persuaded to part with that nugget of wisdom. 



200 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

The select company having come together, what 
should be done ? Of course the usual things, the small 
talk, the attempt at wit, the sallies, the flings, the re- 
freshments, were all plain sailing ; but beyond these, 
what? What should their amusements be? The pre- 
vailing sentiment of the neighborhood was against 
card-playing. The discipline and rules of the churches, 
to which many of the young people belonged, forbade 
it. In justification of this, it was asserted that cards 
were the instruments of vice. With them, blacklegs 
gambled ; to play cards only for amusement might 
form a habit that would lead one to play for money. 
Card-playing, it was urged, has a wrong tendency. If 
you begin it, no knowing where you will end. The 
only safe course is not to touch it with even one of 
your fingers. This reasoning then and there tri- 
umphed. There was no shuffling of cards at any of 
the social gatherings. While a few of the more reck- 
less sometimes ventured to play under cover, any 
young man was disgraced in the eyes of the commu- 
nity if a pack of cards was found in his possession. 

The weight of public opinion was also against dan- 
cing. The churches condemned it. Tt, too, tended to 
evil, they said, and since the violin — " fiddle," they 
called it — was used at dances, it was in general dis- 
repute. While the opposition to dancing was not quite 
as sweeping and positive as against card-playing, still 
it was strong enough to exclude it from most of the 



SOCIAL LIFE 201 

young people's parties. Nevertheless, now and then, 
some coterie of youngsters, braving public opinion, 
danced, and for days were the talk of the whole 
countryside. 

Honest John Erskine got his foot down on cards, 
dancing and all like follies, and no persuasion could 
move him an iota from his position. Like Roderick 
Dhu, he seemed to say, 

" Come one, come all ! This rock shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as I." 

And whatever his children may have thought, none 
of them while under the paternal roof ever played a 
game of cards, and I doubt if any one of them ever 
danced a jig, except on the sly. 

Card-playing and dancing being excluded, the young 
people at their parties sensibly resorted to other amuse- 
ments. They propounded riddles and conundrums ; 
played fox and geese and checkers ; even played blind 
man's bufif, that always seemed to some of us even 
more objectionable than dancing — but I am pleading 
neither for the one nor the other. There are scores of 
harmless, healthful amusements against which no one 
can successfully urge even a plausible objection ; and 
the young people of my country neighborhood, with- 
out playing cards or dancing, found an abundance of 
ennobling recreations which satisfied their social de- 
sires. Still, there were dancers among us, as we shall 
see. 




CHAPTER XI 



BEES 



Not honey-bees nor bumblebees, but men gladly 
uniting to help one another. In pioneer communities, 
sorely needed assistance, that could not be purchased 
with money, was often freely granted by neighbors. 
It was a difficult task to build a log house single- 
handed and alone, but the heavy work of putting the 
logs in place was quickly and easily done by the united 
efifort of a few friends. So the early settlers of our 
neighborhood became mutual helpers in doing the 
harder jobs, or work left undone on account of sick- 
ness. Such companies of benevolent workers were not 
confined to either sex ; and, as specimens of the whole, 

202 



BEES 203 

I wish to portray, as well as I can, three or four of 
these bees. 

The sewing-bee shall first claim our attention. This 
was at times wholly benevolent. Some mother, on 
account of ill health, had been unable to do the neces- 
sary sewing for her family. The neighbors, knowing 
her necessities, gathered at her house to help her out. 
They often generously carried with them the cloth for 
the garments to be made, and superabundant provision 
for their supper. Those swift and happy needles be- 
fore sunset finished all the sewing needed by the 
afflicted family ; and after supper there was left for 
the table a large amount of wholesome food. Such 
thoughtful, generous help did much to cheer back to 
full health and strength the wife and mother who, on 
account of disease, had been unable to do her own 
work. Such a bee blessed both the helpers and the one 
helped. 

" The quality of mercy is not strain'd, 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes." 

The quilting-bee was also common. The women of 
the neighborhood generously helped each other in 
making bedquilts. Usually before the company of 
stitchers came together the preliminary work had been 
done ; the quilt basted together, attached to the frame, 



204 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

and the pattern for quilting marked with chalk. Every- 
thing was ready for the final work. Then, as many 
as could gather around the frame began to ply their 
needles, following out the lines for stitching. Such a 
bee was also a social. While the good women stitched, 
they talked. The gossip and repartee made their work 
a joy ; and if the bedquilt was not too crazy, it was 
completed at a single sitting. The supper now fol- 
lowed, enticing in itself, but made doubly so by the 
consciousness of having wrought a good work for a 
neighbor. 

Turning now to the men, we notice first their rais- 
ing-bees. When the inhabitants of our neighborhood, 
abandoning their log houses and barns, began to con- 
struct frame buildings, the frames of the new struc- 
tures were made of very heavy timbers. The beech or 
oak sleepers, beams and corner posts were from twelve 
to eighteen inches square, and the studs, braces and 
rafters were in due proportion. The carpenter first 
prepared all the varied parts of the frame. Every 
stick of it was made ready for its special place. Each 
mortise was dug out for its corresponding tenon, and 
pins were made to hold the timbers firmly in place. 
If, when the parts of the frame were put together, 
there was a single timber, even a brace, that did not 
fit, the carpenter who had done the job wellnigh lost 
his reputation as a builder. 

When the frame was fully prepared, the owner in- 



BEES 205 

vited his neighbors to help put it together, or, as they 
said, put it up. The carpenter of course bossed the 
job. Many strong and willing hands soon laid the 
heavy sleepers on the solid stone foundations already 
prepared for them, drove the tenons of the sleepers 
into their awaiting mortises, and pinned them there 
with large, tough oak or hickory pins. Then by put- 
ting together a part of the frame of the lower story, 
they formed a bent, which being raised to an upright 
position, the tenons of the corner posts and studs 
slipped into mortises in the sleeper, where they in turn 
were securely pinned. Then another and still another 
bent went up till the frame of the whole lower story 
was in place. This done, planks were thrown across 
the joists of the frame, and on them the bents of the 
upper story were formed and lifted to position. Now 
the rafters, often poles four or five inches in diameter, 
hewn on the upper side, and the ridge-pole, ordinarily 
a timber five or six inches square, were put in place, 
all mortised and carefully pinned together. When 
all was done, some venturesome youth would sit 
astride the ridge-pole, near the gable end, and in 
triumph swing his chip hat to the cheering crowd 
below. 

When the timbers of the bents were large and very 
heavy, as they usually were, to raise them and 
put them in place was the tug of war. At first all 
laid hold with bare hands and lifted with a will till the 



206 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

bent was up five or six feet, when one after another 
seized a pike with which to push it up further. The 
pike was a pole about three inches in diameter, with a 
* sharp-pointed spike in the end. The spike was thrust 
a half inch or so into the timber, and then with a united 
push of the pikes the heavy bent went slowly up, the 
boss standing by, crying, " Together now, heave her 
up — all together, heave her up." When nearly per- 
pendicular, a score of pikes were thrust into the oppo- 
site side of the bent to kee]:) it from toppling over and to 
hold it steady until every tenon had slipped into its 
mortise in the sleeper. The horizontal timber that at 
the top united the bents of the upper story, and on 
which rested the feet of the rafters, often had to be 
hammered down, the tenons of the timbers underneath 
it slipping very tighdy into their mortises. So some 
man of steady nerve would stand on it and pound it 
down with a sledge. I once saw a great, burly fellow 
doing this. He had a hard job, for notwithstanding his 
heavy blows, the timber on which he so firmly and 
bravely stood was forced down very slowly into its 
place. While he was incessantly striking with his pon- 
derous hammer, the boss, standing on the ground be- 
low, kept on bawling. " Pound her down, pound her 
down." The great, strapping fellow, without stopping 
his hammering for an instant, in stentorian tone cried 
in response. " I be. ain't I ? " Whenever after that I 
was exhorted to do what I was already doing to the 



BEES 207 

best of my ability, the cry of that muscular farmer 
would come to mind — "I be, ain't I ? " 

I once attended a raising-bee at John Erskine's. The 
neighbors put up for him the frame of his new horse 
barn. When the job was done, he invited all, accord- 
ing to the invariable custom, to a bountiful repast. 
Here we saw the hand of Aunt Lucy. For drink we 
had cold water, milk, sweet cider, and coffee ; and 
the rough board table was spread with sandwiches, 
piles of doughnuts, powdered with sugar, great frosted 
sweet cakes filled with raisins, called raisin cake, apple 
and mince pies, delicious cheese, and cucumber pickles. 
As I stood in the crowd, munching a piece of Aunt 
Lucy's toothsome cake, I overheard a conversation 
between Eli Furbur and Tom Hart. Tom said, " I 
can't eat cheese, it goes against my stomach." " That's 
my case," said Furbur. " it always goes against mine, 
and an all-fired lot of it." 

The husking-bee was unique and worthy of special 
mention. The usual time for it was an evening in the 
latter part of October. The Indian corn, cut near the 
ground and stood up in shocks, having become thor- 
oughly dry, was drawn into the barn. The stalks, still 
upright just as when shocked in the field, were closely 
packed together on the large, central barn-floor, often 
covering full three-fourths of it. Tin candle sconces 
and lanterns were hung overhead from the joists and 
beams, casting a dim light. The buskers, having come 



208 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

together, began their evening's work, Alen, young, 
middle-aged and old, and sometimes women, especially 
young women, took a hand. The stalks, as the ears 
were husked out, were bound in bundles and stowed 
away upon the adjoining mow; the ears were thrown 
into baskets which, when full, were emptied into a 
great bin just off the main floor. The buskers being 
numerous, the floor was rapidly cleared. The stories, 
the repartee, the jokes made the task more a frolic 
than a labor. Ten o'clock soon came. The husks had 
been torn from the last golden ear. No stalks re- 
mained on the great floor. The young women with the 
coarse barn brooms quickly swept away the husks scat- 
tered here and there. Between nine and ten some 
laughing lassies put in an appearance, but too late to 
do much husking. They came apparently merely to 
jolly the lads and add to the merriment of the hour. 
But Sam Drake, who lived in an adjoining township, 
was one of the bee. He brought under his arm a 
bundle that he carefully deposited in the wheat gran- 
ary. When he joined the buskers he gave some of the 
boys a significant wink, which they answered with a 
knowing chuckle. He was over six feet tall, sallow. 
lean, muscular, with shocky black hair, and hazel eyes 
around which laughter lurked. He spoke with a drawl, 
but was full of genuine humor. He had a great warm 
heart, and everybody liked him, even the puritanical, 
who did not approve of all that he did. Now, the 



BEES 209 

farmer in whose barn this husking-bee was held had no 
objection to dancing, and the young people had ar- 
ranged with him for a hop when the husking was done ; 
he'nce the late coming of some young women ; hence 
the presence of Sam Drake, the most skilful and popu- 
lar fiddler of the whole countryside. The bundle that 
he deftly deposited in the granary was his celebrated 
old violin, in a green baize bag. So when the girls 
began to make the dust fly with their brooms, Sam got 
his green bag, pulled his fiddle out of it, mounted a 
scaffold on the right, seated himself on an overturned 
half-barrel, and began to tune up. The older people 
now left and, after partaking of a bountiful lunch at the 
farmhouse, went home, some of them deprecating the 
follies of the rising generation ; but all the young 
people stayed at the barn. Not that all intended to 
dance ; some had never practised the art, and therefore 
felt themselves unequal to it ; others refrained out of 
respect to their parents, who disapproved of dancing: 
these, however, gladly stayed to witness it. They re- 
frained from the pleasure, not on their own consciences 
but out of respect to those whom they honored and 
loved. As spectators they were at times not a little 
embarrassed. Standing on the outskirts of the com- 
pany, they were now and then compelled to step back 
quickly, sometimes pressing against those who stood 
behind them, to avoid being punched in the ribs by the 
elbows of the stalwart dancers. 



210 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

When all were ready and the young men had chosen 
their partners, Sam Drake, with his peculiar drawl, 
began to call off the figures of the dance. He threw 
his whole soul into both his fiddling and his words. 
He was in love with his violin, and the music that he 
drew from it voiced his emotions. A connoisseur 
would say that it lacked technique — we knew no such 
big word in our country neighborhood — but it had 
something higher and better than technique, — it had 
soul. And with all his heart Sam believed in the dance. 
He said, " It is the very rhythm of the soul." Led by 
such an enthusiast, the dance was full of pleasurable 
excitement. To be sure, the girls wore no fine gowns, 
for they had none, and if they had had them they would 
have been quite out of place in that dusty, dimly lighted 
barn. And the young men danced in the same suits 
in which they had husked the corn. Most of them wore 
their stogv' boots ; a few, however, who had been told 
beforehand of the dance, wore their Sunday calf- 
skins. But the dress of all was quite in harmony with 
the occasion ; and full of gladness, they danced the 
square dance, the round dance, the Virginia reel, and 
a young man of Scotch descent attempted the High- 
land fling. Midnight came. The low-burning candles, 
alreadv once replenished, and the flickering whale-oil 
lamps told them that their fun and frolic must cease, 
but even then, in the rare exhilaration of the moment, 
they sang, " We won't go home till morning ! " 



BEES 211 

But at last, reluctantly quitting the place of their 
glad dance, they went, a happy, laughing band, to the 
farmhouse, where they partook of the feast spread for 
them in the kitchen ; after which, with great glee and 
considerable nonsense, they noisily bade each other 
good-night. Reaching their homes, they crept silently 
into their beds. They had not the privilege now ac- 
corded to city society, of sleeping late in the morning, 
but were compelled to rise with the sun and give them- 
selves to their exacting duties. Their weariness and 
unusual stupidity showed that the last night's so-called 
recreation had been dissipation; instead of building 
them up, it had for the nonce weakened and exhausted 
them. 

Now, there was only a family here and there in our 
neighborhood that would have permitted a husking- 
bee to be topped off with a dance. Most of them, as 
we have already stated, regarded such frolic as sin. 
Vv'hen John Erskine was told of the dance and that two 
of his own children had witnessed it, in a few calm, 
earnest words he condemned it, declaring that those 
that looked on with pleasure were as bad as those that 
took part in it, and clinched his declaration by quo- 
ting the proverb, " You might as well eat the devil as 
to drink his broth.". But Aunt Lucy, never forgetful 
of the pleasures of her girlhood, said, " They needn't 
have danced so late, it wasn't decent to get home at 
two o'clock in the morning." But John, always believ- 



212 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ing her to be quite perfect, did not seem to notice her 
covert compromise with what he deemed unmitigated 
evil. She ever kept clearly in mind the difference be- 
tween the use and abuse of a good thing, while he at 
times failed to apprehend it. 

But while dances were few and exceptional, bees 
were frequent, and while the latter indirectly ministered 
to our social life, they were first and foremost a marked 
exhibition of neighborly kindness ; they showed how 
ready all were to help others ; they were the glad, 
hearty expression of good comradeship ; they bound 
the hearts of the entire neighborhood together, and by 
anticipation put into concrete form Edward Everett 
Hale's " Lend a hand." 







CHAPTER XII 



RECREATIONS 

First of all, the recreations of the children shall 
claim our attention. In the warmer seasons the grass, 
flowers, trees, fruits, birds, the buzzing bees and gor- 
geous butterflies were a never-failing delight, while 
murmuring creeks and tiny waterfalls charmed them, 
and even the rocks and pebbles yielded them exquisite 
pleasure. In winter the frosts and snows, the ice-laden 
forests glittering in the sunshine; coasting and skating 
brought to them exhilarating gladness. Whatever 
their elders did. the smaller children played through 
the livelong day. The little girls kept house. Any 
corner of the dooryard, of the kitchen or the barn, 

213 



214 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

served for a house ; shingles, pieces of cast-off boards 
or overturned boxes were utilized for shelves, bits of 
broken china and glass for dishes. They served mimic 
meals, washed and sewed, and rocked their rag babies 
in sap troughs. They played quilting-bees and had 
parties, sometimes dressing in the cheap frocks of their 
mothers, asking the boys to attend. But the little boys 
played horse, harnessing themselves in tow strings ; 
plowed, sowed, hoed, harvested, and thrashed. They 
played jackstones and marbles, made and flew kites. 
While they often thought the school a drudgery, when 
it was over they had recreations galore. Happier 
times than those they have never since seen. 

I remember with what unbounded delight I used to 
roam through the woods, meadows and pastures. 
Every object and every scene seemed to bewitch me. 
Having as yet no care, I simply revelled in God's won- 
derful world. Sometimes in summer there came into 
the neighborhood from another town a boy about my 
own age. I took a great fancy to him, and more than 
once we tramped together, barefoot, through the fields. 
We ran hither and thither, admiring this flower or that 
bush, just as fancy led us. The bull-thistles were in 
full bloom. How beautiful they were upon their stiff 
and prickly stems ! They had also a wealth of honey, 
and the bumblebees were busy rifling them of their 
sweet treasure. With a swoop we caught them in our 
chip hats, and swinging them round and round till they 



RECREATIONS 215 

were drunk, let them go. With their tiny brains turned 
topsy-turvy, they flew uncertainly and lazily away in a 
zig-zag line, while we gleefully watched them. There 
may have been a tinge of cruelty in our sport, but then 
we did not think of that; we were just having a good 
time. That chance friend of my boyhood became a dis- 
tinguished preacher, and whatever comes from his pen 
has the graceful touch of a true literary artist, and 
nothing ever so turned his brain as to cause him, in 
teaching religion and morals, to take a zig-zag course. 
We also had our pets. John Erskine kept a dog, 
Boze, that the children all loved. I do not know his 
breed, but he was of medium size and reddish brown. 
He was never cross, and was always ready for a 
frolic with the little folks. Towards evening he drove 
the cows from the pasture to the barn. When set on 
the herd, he never caught heifer or steer by the nose 
or ear, as the bulldog is apt to do, but by the end of the 
tail, and held on till the beast was half frightened out 
of its wits. If his master came in from the field with 
burs on his clothes, Boze would at once pick them off. 
He seemed unusually intelligent. But he had a sad end. 
He was sleeping, on a summer afternoon, in the door- 
yard, when a gawky lout, who had been hunting with- 
out success, shot him, apparently because he thought 
he must shoot something. Honest John never opened 
his lips ; he evidently knew no words that would do 
justice to his feelings, but Aunt Lucy tried to express 



216 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

her indignation, and was fairly successful. The chil- 
dren of the family and neighborhood tenderly buried 
Boze with lamentation and tears. 

Cooing doves, " white and pied and blue," held a 
high place among our diversions. A dry-goods box 
made a very good dove-cote ; two small holes, cut in 
the side of the barn, with a narrow platform before 
them, were the doors through which the gentle beauties 
entered. They nested. Soon wide-mouthed, down- 
covered nestlings appeared. Peeping through a crack, 
we saw the old birds feed them. They very soon be- 
came almost large enough to leave their nests. Un- 
beknown to us, the old tom-cat had observed them. 
He liked good fat squabs. In the night he got into the 
dove-cote and ate them all up. The old birds alone 
escaped. In the morning, as we viewed the marks of 
the grim slaughter, we were full of wrath and tears, 
and although Tom was one of our pets, we pursued him 
with sticks and called him a bloody tiger and every 
other bad name that we could bring to mind. But we 
soon plucked up courage, and, nailing down the dove- 
cote so firmly that no tom-cat could ever move it, began 
anew. Soon again there w^ere eggs and squabs and 
doves, and at last our flock became so large that it was 
a burden. Then, when our backs were turned, some 
one was permitted to slaughter a half-dozen of our 
iridescent pets, for a pot-pie. What a descent! 

Woodchuck hunting was in summer a favorite pas- 



RECREATIONS 217 

time of the small boys, and sometimes even those of 
larger growth took a hand in it. One day I and an 
older brother of mine undertook with our shovels to 
dig out a groundhog. After strenuous toil in the hot 
sun, we reached her den, deep in the ground ; but she 
was not there. We found, however, one of her off- 
spring that she had left behind in her nest. I carried it 
home, proudly and tenderly, dug a hole for it in the 
back yard, fed it milk and fresh clover leaves, and it 
grew rapidly. It was soon following me about, like a 
dog. It sunned itself on the veranda, or slept, when 
the air was chill, by the kitchen stove. To my great 
delight, it often ate standing on its hind legs and hold- 
ing the food on which it feasted in its fore paws. It 
was ravenously fond of sugar, and frequently went with 
me into the attic, where the cakes of maple sugar were 
kept in a large wooden tub ; and when, breaking off a 
piece, I gave it to him, he stood up very straight and 
devoured it greedily ; but he always wanted more, and 
gave vigorous expression to his desire by energetically 
scratching the side of the tub. Late in the autumn 
I heard him digging a hole under the stoop ; he worked 
fast and hard, making the dirt fly, and, as he went down 
deeper, pushing it up and out with his paws and nose, 
while he packed the inner wall of his hole till it was 
quite smooth and solid. He now gathered pieces of 
paper, grass and leaves, and carried them down into his 
new home for a bed. He then went into his den to 



218 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

sleep for full four months, while the frosty, biting 
winds howled and the snow flew. How could he do all 
this and do it so perfectly, without ever having been 
taught ? 

In the following April, I saw him come out of his 
hole. He seemed very glad to see me, and, running 
across the veranda to the outside door of the sitting 
room, he vigorously scratched it with his paws. When 
I opened it, he hurried across the room to a door open- 
ing on the chamber stairs, and in turn scratched that. 
It, too, was opened, and he ran up to and across the 
chamber, to a door opening on the attic stairs. I also 
opened this, when he scampered up into the attic, and 
went straight to the sugar tub, which he scratched with 
all his might. He got what he wanted, and broke his 
long fast by devouring a generous lump of maple 
sugar. What was it — instinct or memory or both ? 

My fat woodchuck pet stayed with me during that 
summer. He was popular wdth all the household. 
Every one was happy in feeding him. Never was a 
waif treated more kindly. He, however, evidently 
knew no gratitude. He discarded his den under the 
stoop. His wild nature asserted itself, and early in 
November he ran across the field to the woods, and I 
saw that sugar-loving pet never again. 

Following quite a prevalent custom among the 
farmers of the neighborhood, my father at times let me 
call some sheep or calf mine. It did not, of course. 



RECREATIONS 219 

actually become my property, but since it was spoken 
of as mine, I took the deepest personal interest in it. 

One winter he said that there was an ewe in his 
flock, which was so timid that she did not get her 
share of the fodder, and he was afraid that she would 
die of starvation before spring came. He proposed to 
call her mine if I would coax her to eat corn. This 
aroused my ambition to do what he had failed to do. 
Snatching up an ear of corn from the crib, I appeared 
among the sheep, most of which were eager to eat it 
from my hand, but the emaciated ewe ran away with 
fright, as fast as her legs could carry her. My job 
looked discouraging, but the half-starved, silly sheep 
ran into the basement shed under the barn. She was 
there alone. I crept noiselessly up to the corner of the 
shed where she could not see me, threw the ear of corn 
around the corner, and the trembling simpleton ate it. 
The next day I renewed the experiment with success. 
The third day I stretched my hand, holding the corn, 
around the corner. I heard her scamper away, but 
after long waiting, she ventured back. On the follow- 
ing day I stood before her with the tempting grain. 
She ran to the farthef side of the shed and there stood 
shivering with fear, but saw me toss the corn towards 
her. Each day she came nearer and nearer to receive 
the dainty morsel. Within a week she was eating out 
of my hand ; and at last whenever I appeared in the 
barn-yard she ran to me, and, often rearing up and 



220 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

putting her fore feet on my breast, ate the corn that I 
held aloft. My triumph was complete. My pet grew 
fat, and I was almost bursting with pride over my 
success. 

I remember, too, that John Erskine gave two calves' 
to his youngest son, who was greatly set up by it. The 
gift gave him a sense of responsibility and ownership. 
He looked carefully after them, and talked about their 
fine points. When they were a year old, Honest John 
made a yoke for them, but told his son that he must 
yoke them up himself. He evidently wished to develop 
his self-confidence and independence ; but to put under 
the yoke for the first time two half-wild, yearling steers 
was a formidable job for a twelve-year-old boy. But 
nothing daunted, he shut his calves in the barn-yard, 
and began early in the forenoon the tough task of 
yoking them. He soon had one end of the yoke on the 
neck of the off steer, but how to get the neck of .the 
nigh steer under the other end of it was the tug of war. 
Here his real battle began. He seized the calf by the 
head and horns. l)ut the frightened beast dragged him 
hither and thither till, exhausted, he was compelled to 
quit his hold. He tried gentler means and, after long 
coaxing, got his infant ox near the yoke, when the one 
already yoked ran away. And the hard fight went on 
without intermission for six hours, when the victory 
was won. At last the young steers were securely 
yoked. The plucky boy now tried to drive them 



RECREATIONS 221 

around the barn-yard, but the frightened creatures in 
some way got mixed up, and in a jiffy the yoke was 
under, and the lower ends of the bows above, their 
necks. How it was done the young steer-breaker 
could not understand. Honest John appeared on the 
scene and said, "Aha, the little rascals have turned 
the yoke," and helped his tired boy to straighten out 
the tangle. The next day his son yoked his little oxen 
without much difficulty, and his father soon made for 
him a small stone-boat, on which he rode after his 
young team. He drove twice a week to Ramville to 
get the mail for the family. He was proud of his 
calves and of his success in breaking them to the yoke. 
And he had gotten out of it more than he knew, not 
only fun but character. 

The recreations of country children build them up 
in body. Most of their sports are out in the open, and 
linked with natural objects. Such pastimes impart 
useful knowledge, whet and develop the powers of ob- 
servation, and give to boys and girls tact, perseverance 
and hardihood. 

The recreations of the older folks were, for the most 
part, rough and rugged. Many of them rejoiced in the 
hunt. In July and August pigeons were plentiful; 
they sometimes flew in countless numbers. Once I re- 
member that for several hours they nearly shut out the 
light of the sun. If not in such vast flocks, every year 
thev swarmed in our forests. They were mischievous, 



222 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

freely feeding upon the fields of grain. The farmers 
fought them as pests. Sometimes they snared them, 
and they incited all to shoot them. Every rifle and 
shotgun, every old flint-lock musket was cleaned and 
scoured and oiled for service, and for days we de- 
voted as much time as we could spare to pigeon-hunt- 
ing. On all sides, the woods rang with the shots of 
eager Nimrods. Each strove to outdo the rest in bag- 
ging the largest number of birds. At the close of the 
day we met at the store to compare results, and to 
treat each other to root-beer and candy. Every one 
had been invigorated by his sturdy sport, and the next 
day took hold of his wonted tasks with new zest and 
zeal, while in his home salt pork for a time gave way 
to pigeon pot- or pigeon baked-pie. 

Aunt Lucy had a son in college, who came home one 
July, bringing with him three of his classmates. The 
woods just then being plentifully stocked with pigeons, 
she told them that she should be delighted to cook all 
that they might shoot. Although they were novices 
in handling fowling-pieces, they managed each day to 
bring down with an old blunderbuss enough birds to 
keep the pot full. What delicious pigeon pot-pie she 
made! The birds were always tender and juicy, the 
dough was light and porous, and those college boys, 
after a week's sojourn, went away singing her praises, 
touched by her overflowing kindness, laughing at her 
sparkling wit, and declaring that of all earthly para- 



RECREATIONS 223 

discs a farmhouse, with Aunt Lucy to run it, took the 
cake. 

A Httle later in the season, when the Indian corn was 
ripe and Jack Frost from the treetops was sending 
ratthng down acorns, chestnuts and beechnuts, squir- 
rel-hunting became an exciting sport. Black, gray and 
red squirrels abounded in all the forests of the neigh- 
borhood. They were often so numerous that they 
devastated the cornfields nearest the woods. They 
stripped the husks from the ears and ate the kernels, 
leaving simply the cob on the stalk, or they cut off 
with their sharp teeth the stem of the ear and carried 
the whole ear away to their dens and nests. It was a 
strange sight to see a black squirrel, carrying in his 
teeth a white ear of Indian corn as long as his own 
body, running with it along the top rails of a snake 
fence, and, when he reached the woods, carrying it 
up some great basswood or elm a hundred feet high 
and dragging it into his hole. When I witnessed that 
wonderful feat, my sympathy was always with the 
black marauder. When with his booty he safely 
reached his house in the hollow limb of a great tree, 
where little, hungry, squirrel mouths waited his com- 
ing, I felt like cheering. 

But the farmers in defense of their crops mercilessly 
shot these graceful, nimble denizens of the wood. It 
was a sport that required more skill than pigeon- 
shooting. The shotgun or musket, loaded with bird 



224 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

shot, was the weapon used to bring to earth and pui 
the feathered thieves with their iridescent necks ; but 
in hunting the shy and agile squirrel, that ran with 
twinkling feet over the high treetops, every self- 
respecting sportsman used only the rifle. Of course 
some, thoughtlessly or for want of a better weapon, 
took a mean advantage of the squirrel and blazed away 
at him with their fowling pieces ; but most of the men 
of our neighborhood condemned and scorned such un- 
sportsmanlike conduct. Relying on their trusty rifles, 
they aspired to hit with a single bullet only the head 
of a squirrel, many yards away or in the tops of the 
highest trees. By constant practice they acquired great 
skill in marksmanship. Seeking simply to excel in their 
sport, they were unwittingly fitting themselves to serve 
as sharpshooters in the army during the great Civil 
War. They vied with each other for the championship 
in bagging squirrels, but never permitted themselves to 
become so unsportsmanlike as needlessly to slaughter 
the graceful tree-climbers. All that they brought down 
with their rifles were prepared for the table. Fried 
squirrel or squirrel pot-pie was a dish to tickle the 
palate of a king, and in autumn it often added to the 
pleasure of our meals. So while squirrel-hunting was 
an exciting, exhilarating recreation, it was even be- 
yond that a real utility — it defended the farmer's 
corn and gave variety and richness to the farmer's 
food. 



RECREATIONS 225 

But late in the fall we sometimes indulged in a 
hunt still more exciting, if less useful — the raccoon 
hunt. This animal, while far less numerous than the 
squirrel, being omniverous, evidently put among his 
dainty dishes the farmer's maize. Being also a noc- 
turnal prowler, he feasted on this grain while the 
owner of it slept, and tore down and trampled under 
foot far more than he ate. So the question was, coon 
or corn ? — and corn tipped the scale. The marauding 
raccoon therefore was condemned as a pest, and ruth- 
lessly hunted as an outlaw ; to slaughter him was a 
virtue. But the young men who went " cooning " had 
little or no thought of the utility of their sport ; they 
hunted the wily beast just for the boisterous fun of it. 
When, in September or October, the hard day's work 
on the farm was over and the silver moon was climb- 
ing the eastern sky, a band of young men gathered at 
some previously designated spot. They had two or 
three rifles, two or more coon-dogs, and a couple of 
axes. They showed no signs of weariness from their 
hard work since the dawn. They bandied jokes, and 
the woods near-by echoed their shouts and ringing 
laughter. On now they tramped across the fields, 
through swamps and marshes, till they reached some 
coon-infested place. All are silent ; the dogs are un- 
leashed, and quickly scent the tracks of the game. 
Some luckless coon, flying before the dogs, reaches, 
and begins to climb, a great tree. Crack go the rifles ; 



226 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

if they do their deadly work, the jig is up. But often 
the climbing coon, escaping the whistling bullets, hides 
in the treetop. The dogs, running nervously around the 
trunk of the tree, howl and bay, but in the pale moon- 
light no eye can see the panting, shivering beast. Bring 
the axes ; now the chips fly ; at last the great tree 
sways a little ; hold the dogs back so that they will not 
be maimed when it falls ; stand back, it's coming down ! 
There it goes, thundering to the earth. Quick as a 
flash the yelping dogs leap into the fallen treetop and 
seize the maddened raccoon. For a moment there is 
a fierce battle, and then the poor creature, that put up 
so brave a fight for life against such fearful odds, lies 
limp and dying at the feet of ten or fifteen exulting 
young men. 

But catching the coon is not the end of the night's 
sport. Dry logs and sticks are gathered ; if other fuel 
is not at hand, a half dozen rails, taken from the 
farmer's fence, are split up. The stolen heap of wood 
is fired, and we gather round the crackling flames, 
while some of the party search a neighboring cornfield 
for ears still green and sweet, which we roast before 
the fire ; and there, after midnight, we feast on our 
neighbor's crop. We have cut down one of his valu- 
able trees, burned up some of his logs and fence rails, 
and consumed full twenty-five cars of his corn. We 
have done more damage in one night than the vora- 
cious coon we killed could possibly have done in an en- 



RECREATIONS 227 

tire season. But proud of our petty victory, we carry 
home his lacerated carcass, take off its skin, which is 
of some vakie, and nail it to the side of the barn, till 
we have a chance to sell it in the market for a few 
cents. Such was the vaunted recreation of raccoon- 
hunting when I was a boy. John Erskine, who always 
had a soft side towards our fun, said, " The young 
bloods mean well ; but I'd rather have one or two rac- 
coons than ten or fifteen two-legged coons that roam 
the woods at night, when honest men sleep, and not 
only eat up my corn but chop down my trees and burn 
up my fences." 

At times, we also found recreation in fishing. The 
sluggish creek, stretching along the south side of our 
neighborhood, was well stocked with pickerel. When 
weary of hard and long continued labor on the farm, 
just to give a little variety and spice to life, we said 
to one another, " Let's take a half day off and have a 
little fun fishing." 

Our fishing tackle was crude. We had no bamboo 
fishing rods with reels ; such luxuries were then un- 
known to us. Our fishing poles were tall, pliant sap- 
lings, which we cut with our jackknives. Now, when 
our poles, — we never said rods, — lines and hooks, 
sinkers and bait were ready, we started off like colts 
just turned out to pasture. We danced, capered, 
shouted and sang as we made our way for two or 
three miles, bv the road and across the fields, to the 



228 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

deep pools in which the pickerel congregated. We 
were soon at work, each in his own way, some angling 
wath bait and some trolling with the flying spoon. A 
great pickerel leaps up and swallows a spoon-hook. 
The fisher gives one vigorous jerk to imbed the barbed 
hook deeply in its jaws, and then lets it scurry hither 
and thither until its strength is on the wane, when he 
exultingly lands it upon the grassy bank. Further 
down the stream is Mike Roach, fishing with worms. 
A voracious pike seizes his baited hook ; there is an- 
other sharp contest, when that incautious fish, greedy 
of worms, wriggles and squirms on dry land. An 
amateur fisher loses both bait and hook ; a ravenous 
pickerel, to get the worm, takes it hook and all, even 
biting off the line. Some, in haste to land the hooked 
fish, lose them just as they are lifted to the surface; 
and these, of course, are always the biggest fish of the 
lot. Some catch none, not indeed from any lack of 
skill — it is simply a case of poor luck. Others suc- 
ceed that nobody thought would, and some utterly 
fail that were quite certain of success. Our little fish- 
ing party was a suggestive miniature world. 

At last, weary of our sport, we come together, good- 
naturedly chafiing each other, and count up our catch. 
All, the lucky and unlucky alike, share equally in it. 
But before we turn our footsteps homeward we take 
a plunge in the creek; after wdiich. carrying in pride 
our finny prey, we tramp back to our homes, guying 



RECREATIONS 229 

each other and telhng big fish stories. Our outing has 
rested and invigorated both mind and body, while the 
breakfast tables of a dozen families are made more at- 
tractive by our catch. To be sure, some of the stay- 
at-homes declared that salt pork was far better than 
fresh pickerel, but we noticed that they managed 
in some way to worry down a good fat piece of the 
fish. 

In early spring when the streams ran bank-full, we 
often fished at the sawmill and in the adjacent creek 
for white suckers. We did this in the night, because 
the district school was still in session and we could 
not be absent from it. Moreover, the darkness en- 
hanced our fun. We always had a log fire on the bank 
of the creek near the pond and mill. What youngster 
does not glory in a bright, warm fire in the open, on a 
dark and chilly night ! When wet and shivering, we 
gathered around the flaming knots and logs to dry our 
dripping clothes and warm our legs, blue with cold. 
As suckers would seldom bite a worm-sheathed hook, 
we fished them both with the spear and with the small 
hand-net. The net was attached to a frame with a 
mouth from four to five feet wide. We thrust it into 
the bed of the creek, held it firmly to the bottom, while 
one or two waded down the stream toward it, thrash- 
ing the waters with sticks. When the waders reached 
the net, it was lifted from the water, often having in 
its meshes a half-dozen to a dozen panting, squirming 



230 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

suckers. Those too small for the table, we threw back 
into the water, telling them that they were too young 
to be out nights. But often, leaving the net, we used 
the spear. We waded into the stream, bearing in our 
left hands flaming torches. Under the flash of our 
flickering lights, the fish would go down to the bottom 
of the stream and lie perfectly still, except a gentle to- 
and-fro movement of the tail, when, with a quick thrust 
of the spear, we pierced them. 

About midnight we gathered for the last time about 
our blazing logs, " dried out," as we "called it, and then 
bore our white booty to our homes. Was wading in 
cold water for hours, leg-deep, recreation? We did 
not so call it ; we just said, " It's lots of fun." 

At times the older men of the neighborhood spent 
a day fishing in Lake Ontario. This involved a very 
early morning drive of many miles in a two-horse 
wagon ; then diligent work all day on the lake, both 
with hook and line and fishing net. They caught perch, 
trout and bass and, now and then, a sturgeon. I re- 
member how good these fresh fish tasted, and even the 
coarse, oily sturgeon agreeably tickled my young palate. 
The semi-transparent cartilage in the sturgeon's nose 
we cut into small balls, which, on account of their 
wonderful elasticity, gave us youngsters a deal of joy. 
Moreover, the amateur farmer-fishers for da>s depicted 
their racy experiences as they cast the line or drew the 
seine, and a great longing sprang up within us, who 



RECREATIONS 231 

stayed at home, to see the great lake and draw the 
gamy fish from its bhie waters. 

But hew conditions evoked new recreations. As the 
farmers and mechanics became thrifty, they indulged 
in conveniences and luxuries that before had been be- 
yond their reach. They began to ride in polished 
buggies, drawn by spirited horses with shining har- 
nesses, and in winter, in cutters of stylish make, filled 
with warm, soft blankets or fur robes, the horses girt 
with bells. These vehicles delighted the young men, 
who wished to ride with the girls just for the fun of 
the thing, or were impelled to this form of pleasure by 
a soft but mighty passion that had mysteriously been 
born within them. On some summer or autumn or 
winter day, a half dozen or more jolly fellows would 
start out in buggies or cutters for a day of rest. Hap- 
pily there was room in buggy or cutter for only two. 
To spend a whole day alone with one's " best girl," to 
talk with her where there was no ear to hear but hers, 
with her to admire wood and meadow and silvery 
creek and fields variegated with green and yellowing 
grain, and hills clothed with flocks, or in winter, 
muffled in fur robes, behind merrily jingling bells, to 
fly by vast stretches of unbroken, glistening snow, to 
note the fantastic shapes in which the wind had 
wreathed it, was recreation that might have been cov- 
eted in Paradise. The happy couples drove along the 
same roads about half a mile apart, and at last 



232 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

brought up at some country tavern, where their tired, 
hungry horses were rubbed down, watered and fed, 
while the lads and lasses feasted on the best that the 
hostelry afforded. When their hilarious dinner ended, 
they found their way back to their homes by other 
roads than those over which they came. The drive 
back was long, but it seemed so short. Before they 
were aware of it, they stood at the gates where they 
were to bid adieu to their sweethearts. Was it merely 
a handshake or a kiss or both ? The deepening shades 
of evening will hide and keep the precious secret. 

Ball-playing, also, often relieved the tedium of our 
country life. We played barnball, one old cat, two old 
cat, and baseball. The last two games were generally 
played by the older young men of the neighborhood. 
We usually indulged in this sport in the long days of 
summer, after the work on the farm and in the shop 
was over, or in connection with some raising-bee, or 
on some summer holiday ; and occasionally we took for 
it two or three hours of a Saturday afternoon. Weary 
as we might be from our exacting toil, under a July or 
August sun, in the dry and dusty fields, a game of 
baseball always put new life into us. We did not play 
it scientifically, as men do now ; we had no expert to 
drill us ; we were just clumsy amateurs. We had no 
padded gloves, nor wire masks for our faces ; but the 
balls were not as hard as those used to-day. I often 
caught with bare hands behind the bat, and bear to this 



RECREATIONS 233 

day the evidence of it in a partially disabled finger. 
But no professionals of our time ever had greater en- 
thusiasm than we sometimes attained in our struggle 
for supremacy. In the game we found both recreation 
for our jaded bodies and invaluable physical and intel- 
lectual discipline. It taught us how to think in press- 
ing emergencies, and act quickly and with precision ; 
also, how to bear ourselves manfully in both victory 
and defeat. 

The game gave rise to a case of conscience. A son 
of John Erskine, about twelve years old, united with 
the church. He was passionately fond of playing ball ; 
but the church covenant forbade it. Each one received 
into membership vowed to abstain from " ball-playing 
and tavern-haunting." To keep this agreement re- 
quired all the will power that young Erskine could 
summon ; but he triumphed over himself. At last, he 
opened his heart to his father, who at once said, " Why, 
my son, the covenant has no reference to such games 
of ball as you play with the boys. It merely prohibits 
the games that end with a treat at the tavern ; so it 
couples ' ball-playing ' with ' tavern-haunting.' " A 
great load rolled off the conscience of that young Chris- 
tian ; and now, made stronger in character by having 
for many weeks strictly kept his covenant as he had 
understood it, he entered with keener zest than ever 
before into the ball games of his playmates. 

A game of quoits also at times furnished healthful 



234 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

diversion. When we could not obtain iron rings, flat 
stones or horseshoes answered for quoits. Throwing 
heavy weights with precision discipUned both eye and 
muscle. Some objected to the sport because it was at 
times topped off by drinks at the tavern. But as guz- 
zHng Uquor was no part of the game, a young man 
bravely defended it by saying, " I pitch quoits for the 
glory of God ! " He could do that, and doubtless did. 

" All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." To 
break up the monotony of farm life and save ourselves 
from stupidity, we punctuated our hard work with 
vigorous sports, that rested our bodies and brightened 
and stimulated our minds. 




CHAPTER XIII 



HOLIDAYS 



In their season glad holidays came. We had all too 
few of them ; in fact only three, New Year's day, Gen- 
eral Training and the Fourth of July. To be sure, to 
a limited extent we also observed the birthday of 
Christ. When it dawned we cried to each other, " I 
wish you a merry Christmas." We gave some presents. 
But the spirit of the Puritans, who hated Christmas 
with all their hearts, still swayed and controlled many 
of us, and we gave the holiday, now so generally and 
lavishly celebrated, an indifferent welcome. 

But New Year's was a "high day" with us. The 
night before the Methodists met in their house of 

236 



236 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

worship and, joined by many others, watched the old 
year out and the new year in. They confessed their 
sins, wishing, as they said, to have all old scores set- 
tled up. They prayed earnestly — at all events, many 
of them prayed very loud — and sang hymns at the top 
of their voices. Then, as the clock struck twelve, they 
all fell on their knees, and while some prayed the rest 
cried, "Amen," "Grant it, Lord," "Glory to God," 
" Hallelujah." So the old went out and the new came 
in amid much fervid confusion. 

In the homes, the children, and even some of larger 
growth, hung up their stockings by the fireplace. In 
the dead of night Santa Claus slipped noiselessly down 
the chimney and filled them, without waking a single 
expectant sleeper. We wondered how he could avoid 
burning his feet with the glowing coals on the hearth. 
At the gray dawn the houses rang with the laughter 
of children. The white-bearded donor from the North 
Pole had in some way learned their wishes, and brought 
them just what they wanted, but he did not always 
bring them as much as they wanted. Their cry for 
more showed how unmistakably human they were. As 
they danced for joy, the real Santa Clauses, looking on 
and listening to their merry prattle, were even happier 
than they. On that glad morning breakfast was always 
later than usual. Since it was a holiday, nobodv was 
in a hurry. All were just glad. Eax!h gleefully said to 
fhe other, " I wish you a happy New Year." 



HOLIDAYS 237 

Then in all the houses of the neighborhood mothers 
and daughters made ready for callers. It was the 
universal custom for the young men to make during 
the day, beginning as early as nine or ten in the fore- 
noon, as many brief calls as time and strength would 
permit. Each caller was offered a cup of tea or coffee 
or a glass of cider, with cake and cheese, and some- 
times pie and pickles. When there was enough snow, 
many gave the long evening to jolly sleigh-rides. The 
whole day from morning till midnight was one un- 
broken festival. 

The militia of our State was organized by law for 
regular military drill. In every township there was 
at least one company of an hundred men or more, 
which was called together at stated times and put 
through the manual of arms by some old soldier, either 
of the Revolution or of the War of 1812. This was 
called Company Training. But every year, early in 
October, at some place in the county, the companies 
from the towns, by mutual agreement, came together 
to be drilled en masse. This was General Training, 
which became a county holiday. 

The young peonle with great zest attended this an- 
nual military display, and the old folks went with them 
to keep them out of mischief. Even John Erskine. the 
most unremitting worker in our neighborhood, went 
with Aunt Lucy and entered heartilv into all the pleas- 
ures of the day. The season was one of the most in- 



238 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

teresting of the year. The Indian corn stood in shocks 
in the fields dotted over with golden pumpkins ; the 
fragrant apples still loaded down the trees or filled bar- 
rels scattered through the orchards or were piled in 
heaps for the cider-mill, and all the forests were dashed 
with brown and yellow and crimson. Over the same 
road years before, in early spring, Erskine had driven 
his ox-cart with his young and blooming bride by his 
side ; and now as she sits beside him in his fine two- 
horse wagon, filled with their robust children, he is 
conscious of a love for her, stronger and more tender 
than he had ever before felt, a love mingled with pride 
and admiration. He found on this glad holiday that 
his honeymoon was still waxing. So on that cool, clear 
October morning, he was filled with unwonted happi- 
ness ; love burned undimmed on the altar of his heart, 
while his eyes and hers were everywhere feasted with 
the exquisite beauty of autumn. 

The bewitching drive is soon over. Love makes 
long journeys short. John Erskine, with wife and 
children, is ushered into the noisy crowd. All the com- 
panies of militia have assembled. They make a full 
regiment, but to us youngsters they seem to be a great 
army. We are specially taken with the Continental 
hats of the officers, bedecked with feathers and colored 
cockades. In praiseworthy rivalry, each company 
strives to outdo the others in soldierly bearing, skill in 
handling their flint-lock muskets, and in orderly march- 



HOLIDAYS 239 

ing. And a captain from Hungary amuses us by say- 
ing to his men, " Hold up your heads and look sav- 
age ! " All are not in uniform, and so present a some- 
what motley appearance, but all have muskets with 
newly scoured bayonets. In the presence of a gaping 
throng, they are marshalled on the main street of the 
village, and march six abreast to a meadow of about 
forty acres on the outskirts of the town. The first 
battalion is led by shrilling fifes and rattling snare- 
drums, the last by a brass band with its booming bass 
drum. 

On the border of the field, where the maneuvering 
takes place, are hucksters of all sorts. They sell 
combs and brushes, shoe-blacking and shoe-strings, 
tops and jumping- jacks, handkerchiefs of many colors, 
and suspenders, needles and thread, neckties and chip 
hats, cider and gingerbread, pie and cheese, and all of 
them are crying up their wares or commending their 
viands and drinks. One fellow keeps vociferating, 
" Come up, walk up, run up, tumble up, any way to 
git up, here are galluses fit for a king, cheaper than 
dirt ! " We buy what our slender purses will permit, 
drink lemonade and cider, eat gingerbread, pie and 
cheese, gaze at the wonderful marches, countermarches 
and evolutions of the militia, listen enchanted to fife 
and drum and the brazen braying of the brass band, 
till sunset ; and then, weary and sleepy, in springless 
wagons, lumber back to our far-away homes. And this 



240 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

unique holiday came to gladden us each year. One of 
the most vivid recollections of my boyhood is this Gen- 
eral Training Day. 

In many ways, however, the best of our holidays was 
the Fourth of July. All work, except the necessary 
chores, was laid aside. Some farmers, quite worn out 
with hard toil, did nothing but lounge about, napping 
on their verandas or on the ground in the grateful 
shade of their trees. Others walked listlessly in their 
orchards or gro.ves. But absolute suspension of activity 
does not always give the weary the most perfect rest. 
A change of activities is often more effective. So, some 
spent the day fishing or hunting, and some in the after- 
noon indulged in a game of ball or quoits. A goodly 
number of the young men went buggy-riding with 
their sweethearts, the stars and stripes fluttering from 
their horses' heads. But some of us put the hay-rack 
on a strong wagon, and so furnished it with board seats 
that it would accommodate from twenty-five to thirty, 
hitched to the wagon two spans of horses, decked with 
the national flag, drove through the neighborhood, 
picked up a load of boys and girls — the girls dressed 
in red, white and blue — made our way to a distant 
village, where we listened to the reading of the Declara- 
tion of Independence and to an oration of a gifted 
citizen. He told us, in grandiloquent style, what our 
Revolutionary fathers suffered that we might be a free 
and independent people, and impressed us with the. 



HOLIDAYS 241 

notion that we were just the bravest, biggest nation on 
earth ; and, knowing nothing to the contrary, we be- 
Ueved it. But strange to say, the patriotic Hes — or 
shall I say prophecies — that those bombastic orators 
used to utter have now pretty nearly come true. 

When the oration was over, we all turned into the 
tavern, fed and refreshed our horses and also our girls 
and ourselves. At dinner we nearly filled the great 
dining-room. We consumed a large quantity of beef, 
lamb, pork, beans, beets and new potatoes, and drank 
deeply of poor coffee and sour, thin lemonade. How- 
ever, with appetites more than satisfied, we took our 
seats again in the spacious hay-rack, horses and driver 
were in place, when we gave three cheers for the 
bountiful landlord, just to make him feel good, three 
cheers for the orator of the day, and three times three 
for our glorious country. As the echoes of our cheers 
died away, crack went the driver's whip and we started 
off at a gallop for a ride across the country, about the 
noisiest, happiest band of mortals on the footstool. 
What Munchausen yarns we told, as we rode ! What 
moldy jokes we cracked! How our laughter rang 
out over all the countryside! But before sunset we 
were home again, and our weary horses were feeding 
peacefully in their pastures. 

As the shades of evening deepened, by a common 
impulse a crowd gathered together in Ramville. When 
it was fairly dark, our rustic fireworks began. Fire- 



242 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

crackers, little and big, were thrown helter-skelter. 
Now and then, to our great delight, a whole bunch at a 
time would be touched off by some prodigal youth, and 
its crack, crack, crack would be made doubly sonorous 
by its being exploded in an empty barrel. Farther 
down the road, near the creek, a little, old, rusty can- 
non and the loaded anvil of the blacksmith vied with 
each other in patriotic booms. Fire-wheels of various 
sizes, fastened to posts or board fences, fitfully lighted 
up the street with their various-colored whirls of flame 
and sparks. Fiery serpents flew zigzag through the air, 
and often dove into the dust, where they burst with a 
dull sound. Pop, pop went the Roman candles, illu- 
minating the houses and trees with their glowing balls 
of red, white and blue. And, keeping the best wine 
till the last of the feast, about ten o'clock a few precious 
rockets — we couldn't afford many — flew with a wild 
rush and whiz far up into the sky and, exploding, sent 
a shower of brilliantly colored globules in graceful 
curves downward toward the earth, while the excited 
spectators cheered. But the very last was the best of 
all. It was home-made and unique. We soaked in al- 
cohol from fifty to seventy-five balls of candle-wnck. 
We lighted them one by one, and flung them flaming 
into the yelling crowd on the street, that broke up into 
two companies, facing each other a few rods apart. 
Grasping with bare hands the burning balls, they threw 
them up into the air toward each other ; as they came 



HOLIDAYS 243 

down they were caught and thrown back to the oppo- 
site company. So they were hurled back and forth. 
It looked like a veritable battle with balls of fire. Some 
timid boy at first would be afraid to catch them or pick 
them up with his bare hand, when some one would 
cry out, " Take hold of it and throw it quick — it won't 
hurt you, if you don't hold on to it." How brilliant and 
beautiful were those parabolas of light ! And when 
fifty or seventy-five fiaming balls all at once were fiying 
in graceful curves through the darkness, the scene was 
so bewitching and thrilling that I could never forget 
it. But the last flickering flame of the burning balls 
was soon quenched, and all was dark. So ended our 
patriotic holiday on the main street of Ramville. 




CHAPTER XIV 



POLITICS 



For many years in our neighborhood, as in the na- 
tion, there were only two poHtical parties. We were 
all either Whigs or Democrats, and each one took a 
weekly paper that maintained his special political views. 
This no doubt tended to foster narrowness and par- 
tisanship ; but this baleful effect was in a measure over- 
come by the numerous debates that sprang up between 
neighbors, as they casually met during some exciting 
political campaign. In these controversies the dom- 
inant political issues were pretty well aired, and each 
partisan learned the position of his antagonist and his 

244 



POLITICS 245 

reasons for it. So by their contentions they got and 
gave Hght, and gained in breadth of view. They grew 
more hberal by attrition ; and while none of them ever 
made the sHghtest pretense to learning, they were, 
taken by the dozen, thinking men of fair intelligence, 
and endowed with those homely virtues that are the 
highest attributes of good citizenship. 

Of course we had school district, town, county, State 
and national politics. Usually the minor elections 
passed off quietly. A few prominent local politicians 
fixed up the ticket, and without protest the rest voted 
it. Occasionally, however, questions arose even in the 
township or school district that agitated us all. Then, 
on election day, all the voters turned out. Sissing-hot 
they discussed the issues which divided them, till they 
were red in the face. The whole town seemed deathly 
sick with a burning fever ; but the ballot-box took 
the physic, and the next day the whole community 
was convalescent, well on towards complete recov- 
ery. 

I once attended in the evening the annual meeting 
for the election of trustees of our school district, when 
some radical differences of opinion found strong ex- 
pression. A sharp debate sprang up. I sat till near 
midnight, filled with boyish wonder to hear good men 
abuse each other, but noticed that, when the divisive 
question had been settled by a majority vote, peace re- 
sumed its noiseless sway. It was a suggestive object 



246 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

lesson, showing how the most bitter controversies 
among intelHgent men can be permanently settled by 
popular suffrage. 

'Now and then, the county or State called some man 
from our obscure neighborhood into its service. Such 
an event made us feel that we were of. some importance 
in the world. Once Joseph Hunter, a very worthy citi- 
zen among us, was elected supervisor of the county by 
barely one majority. All tongues were busy with an 
incident so unusual, and that " one majority " added 
not a little to Hunter's local renown. The year of his 
election was noted for its great crop of apples, John 
Story was helping the recently elected supervisor har- 
vest his apples, when Hunter said, " John, you needn't 
be particular about picking up every little one, just pick 
up the largest and best and let the rest go." John, who 
stuttered badly, replied, " M-m-mister Hu-Hu-Hunter, 
wo-wo-one sometimes ma-ma-makes a m-m-mighty 
difference ! " 

At times some zealous abolitionist came to stir 
us up on the cruelties of slavery. One of these speakers 
brought a colored brother Avith him to enforce his 
flaming appeals. Each in turn eloquently portrayed 
the enormities of slaveholding and the slave traffic. A 
hospitable Democrat asked them to stay with him over 
night. Towards bedtime he said to them. " My family 
is large and I have but one spare bed. Have you any 
objection to occupying the same bed?" Quick as a 



POLITICS 247 

flash, to his great amusement, the negro rephed, " Not 
the slightest objection, sah, not the slightest." So they 
slept together without damage to either. 

But I now wish to give simply some reminiscences of 
national political events which agitated our humble 
com.munity. I have no recollection of Martin Van 
Buren's first Presidential campaign ; but I do remem- 
ber when the schoolmaster at times asked, " Who is 
the President of the United States ? " that I felt very 
proud when I was able to answer, " Martin Van 
Buren." Knowing that, it seemed to me hardly neces- 
sary to know more. I do, however, vividly recall the 
campaign of 1840, when William Henry Harrison ran 
in opposition to Van Buren. At that time the people 
were aflame with excitement. General Harrison was 
from Ohio, which was then a part of the far west. He 
had been Governor of the Northwestern Territory. 
He was a military hero, having defeated the Indians at 
Tippecanoe. He had worn a coonskin cap, and had a 
reputation for hearty, frontier hospitality ; it was pro- 
claimed that his latch-string always hung out. At the 
side of his log cabin stood the oak cider barrel from 
which he regaled his guests. Such, at all events, was 
•the popular view of him. He caught, as few Presi- 
dential candidates ever have, the eye of the people 
and fired their imagination. The log cabin, the coon- 
skin, and cider barrel became the popular symbols of 
his campaign. 



248 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

In Rochester, Western New York, on the Fourth of 
July, 1840, I witnessed, with a company of our neigh- 
bors, a spectacular Whig procession. A brass band led 
it, while at its center were fifes and snare-drums. 
There were many wagons, covered with large plat- 
forms and drawn by flag-bedecked horses. On the 
platforms were men and women actively engaged in 
home industries ; they were shearing sheep, picking, 
carding and spinning wool, weaving cloth, breaking, 
swingling and hatcheling flax, churning butter and 
making cheese. There were also mimic flour and cot- 
ton mills. Wheat was being thrashed with flails, and 
there were representations of cider mills and stacks of 
cider barrels, while a great barrel or tun was rolled in 
the procession by four men along the street. The last 
of the long line was a log cabin on wheels, with coon- 
skins nailed to its sides, and its hospitable leather latch- 
string hanging out. There were also a variety of ban- 
ners on which were crude portraits of Harrison and 
Tyler: and since Van Buren had the reputation of 
being natty in dress, here and there, dangling from 
poles, were effigies of him in his swallow-tail coat; 
while the song, which very early in the .campaign be- 
came widely popular, was sung by the enthusiastic 

crowds : 

" Tippecanoe and Tyler too. 
And with them we'll beat nny man; 
Van, Van is a iiscd-iip man. 
And with them we'll beat little Van." 



POLITICS 249 

When the procession was over, we went down the 
Genesee River to a place where a Harrison log cabin 
had been erected, with the ubiquitous coonskin nailed 
upon its outer wall. Inside in one corner was a cider 
barrel. On one side of the room near the door was a 
cartoon, in sketchy style, about five feet by three and 
a half, which represented Harrison as a giant with 
his head thrown back, his great mouth wide open, 
holding above it between his thumb and forefinger, 
by the tip ends of his swallow-tailed coat, a kicking 
Lilliputian Van Buren, as if about to swallow him at 
a single gulp. 

The next day we told those who stayed at home the 
funny things that we saw and heard ; and our weekly 
political papers were full of mirth-provoking incidents 
of the strange Presidential campaign, all of which so 
stirred even our staid community, that the boys as they 
toiled in the fields and the girls as they worked in the 
homes sang: 

" Tippecanoe and Tyler too." 

Harrison's triumph is now ancient history. The 
dapper little Van of Kinderhook was " a used-up man." 
He went down to defeat before log cabins, coonskins 
and hard cider. 

In 1844, when Clay and Polk struggled for the 
Presidency, the excitement was nearly as intense as in 
1840, but the battle was more dignified and rational. 



250 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

While home industries, internal improvements and a 
strong Federal government still held the center of the 
stage, the great moral question of slavery had in- 
directly thrust itself in and claimed serious considera- 
tion. The South, wishing more slave States, favored 
the annexation of Texas, while in the North some 
Democrats and the great mass of the Whigs opposed 
it. Mr. Clay stood between two fires. He was really 
in sympathy with the view of the northern Whigs, but 
if he should openly proclaim it, that would defeat him 
in the South ; if he should declare himself in favor of 
annexation, that would defeat him in the North. His 
true policy, if he would gain the Presidency, was to 
keep still. But in his anxiety to win, he wrote a private 
letter — strictly private, mind you — opposing annexa- 
tion. His opinion was to be secretly used for his bene- 
fit in the North. But the fact that he had written such 
a letter leaked out, nobody knew how, and that ill- 
starred epistle harassed him and his party throughout 
the whole campaign. If he had written one letter less, 
he might have reached the height of his ambition, — 
who knows? Well, he did say when defeated, " I had 
rather be right than President," and the northern 
Whigs were proud of him for it. 

His nomination was warmly hailed by all his party, 
and by some Democrats. He was a magnetic orator, 
a national idol, a man that awakened intense enthu- 
siasm and the most ardent devotion. But when Polk 



POLITICS 251 

was nominated, I heard a fairly intelligent man ask, 
after having cudgeled his brains, " Who in thunder 
is Polk ? " But his very obscurity helped him in his 
campaign. He had never done nor said anything of 
national importance, and so could not be seriously 
criticized. It is the man famous for his words and 
deeds, that can be talked down or up. 

During the summer and autumn large political meet- 
ings were frequent. Both men and women swelled the 
throngs that attended them. The excitement was so 
intense and widespread, that even from our obscure 
community we went to great Whig rallies in neighbor- 
ing villages or at the county-seat, in wagons drawn by 
four or six horses, tricked out with star-spangled ban- 
ners. On the way, the young men and women made 
the countryside ring with the popular campaign songs. 
At the place of meeting we marched, waving our flags 
and displaying our mottoes, led by brass bands dis- 
coursing patriotic airs. When at last we gathered 
round the speaker's stand, some noted quartet sang 
the most taking Whig songs, while the good-natured 
crowd clapped and cheered. Then the best stump 
speakers that could be procured told us of the pre- 
eminent virtues of our party and candidates, .of the 
prosperity that would come to the country if we should 
be successful at the polls, of the dire disasters that 
awaited us if our opponents should triumph ; and we 
had not the slightest doubt of the truthfulness of these 



252 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

utterances. Still, at times, the speaking was of a high 
order. William H. Seward once captured us with his 
plausible, eloquent talk. He began his speech in a way 
so witty and familiar, that he at once caught the amused 
attention of his great audience. In a grove had been 
erected a platform, on which the local celebrities were 
seated. Some young men, wishing to get near the 
speaker, climbed up into the trees hard by the staging. 
When introduced, A4r. Seward was greeted with loud 
and protracted cheering. When it died down, he in 
silence surveyed the scene before him, casting an up- 
ward glance to those in the branches above him, and 
then said in a conversational tone, clearly heard by all : 
" Fellow citizens, I have been often told of the host 
of Whigs in this county, but I never knew before that 
they grew on trees ! " A simultaneous roar of laughter 
followed, and when it w^as over that delighted crowd 
listened for an hour to an able speech, enlivened by 
humor and ever and anon flashing with wit. 

At these great political gatherings the admirers of 
Clay wore many beautiful silk badges, pinned on the 
lapels of gentlemen's coats and the gowns of women. 
On these badges was stamped some Whig shibboleth 
or snatch of some popular song. I have used one of 
them as a book-mark for sixty-seven years, and here 
present a facsimile of it, which may be of interest to 
the present generation. 

During this stirring campaign, John Erskine said 



POLITICS 



253 



little or nothing, but 
was evidently doing 
considerable thinking. 
Now and then he 
attended a political 
meeting, but went and 
came away in silence. 
He greatly admired 
Clay both as a man 
and a statesman ; but 
deep down in his heart 
a fierce moral battle 
was fought to a fin- 
ish. In the interest of 
what he deemed to be 
right, the warmest 
personal favoritism 
was swept aside. By 
slow and painful 
steps, he had reached 
his conclusion, which 
he modestly announced 
to his more intimate 
friends, " I shall never 
again vote for a slave- 
holder for President." 
Those whom he most 
highly esteemed tried 



,?ffTr^..>.<i, .^.aA*,, 




^ HENRY CLAT, 

AND 
A fnOTMCTlVB TABIFF. 




NO ANNEXATJON OF TEXA©i 




Ktv V.xlcwMon ot S\aNer\ V 



«j*j»j 



'i*;jfffm^ 



'-■ Once rr.are hnd at <iur Cnunlry'« ''il 

W« aw lierfl this lUy la rally. 
•Friim Wwlf '-o'' ""(i fliutoly hnlU 
Yroxu uiouniaia li-'pand valle;- I 
Como cMi<, I'tJmft west, 
Ciine strive your licsi ; 
Oh Pfeernun Ao wi tavrr, 
But afrik« tl>« lilo'.v— yjuf fo^n 
Aail shoni for (jn!!a.it il.-.mf 



Clay Campaign Badge 



throw, 



254 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

to dissuade him from his purpose. Aunt Lucy, the 
idol of his heart, said to him, " If one of two slave- 
holders is to be elected President, I should vote for the 
one that I thought would do the least mischief." But 
honest John was immovable. He would not, however, 
vote for James G. Birney, the Abolition candidate, 
regarding him as extreme and impractical. He cast 
his vote only for State officers and a congressman. 
Such an incident was the harbinger of Lincoln's dec- 
laration long after, that the nation could not continue 
to exist half slave and half free. 

To help on the campaign of the distinguished Whig 
candidate, a paper was started called The Clay Bugle. 
Nearly every Whig in all our countryside took it. I re- 
member with what boyish enthusiasm I read it. To me, 
Henry Clay was then the greatest man on earth. Af- 
ter the election Oscar Gooch expressed my own disap- 
pointment, when he naively said, " Why, I thought Clay 
was going to be elected, — The Clay Bugle said so." 
In 1848 the Whigs nominated General Zachary Tay- 
lor for President, evidently not on account of his 
having any special fitness for the office, but because 
they believed that his military fame, acquired in the 
Mexican war, would make him a good vote-getter. In 
this they were not disappointed. 

The opposing candidate, Lewis Cass, was a very able 
man, with large experience in public life. He, too, was 
a general and had fought in Canada in 1812; but his 



POLITICS 255 

military laurels were old and faded. He was a lawyer 
and United States senator, very ambitious to crown his 
career by being President. But, caught in the meshes 
of the anti-slavery agitation, he failed to reach the 
goal. California knocked at the gate of the Union, 
wishing to be admitted as a State; but the terrifying 
question was whether she should be free or slave. This 
had to be settled by the United States Senate. Mr. Cass 
saw that if he should vote to admit her as a free State, 
he would lose the political support of the South ; if as 
a slave State, he would alienate the vote of the North ; 
so he made a notable speech in the senate, advocating 
that she should determine for herself at the polls 
whether she should be free or slave. He called this 
settling the slavery question by popular sovereignty; 
and Stephen A. Douglas, of Illinois, at a later day, fol- 
lowing in Cass' footsteps, styled it squatter sovereignty. 
But this adroit way of concealing his own opinion and 
avoiding the real issue so as to offend neither the North 
nor the South returned " to plague the inventor." ^ 
His duplicity was crystallized in a satirical song, which 
was widely sung during his Presidential campaign ; I 
heard it hundreds of times in my own secluded neigh- 
borhood : 

" And there was Cass, though not a dunce 
He'd run both sides the track at once; 
To win the race would all things copy, 
Sometimes pig and sometimes puppy." 
* Macbeth, Act i, Scene 7. 



2ot) WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

But this was not the oiil}- thorn in his side. Martin 
Van Buren, one of his poHtical rivals, intensely desired 
to be President once more, and thought that his party 
should have nominated him instead of Cass. He 
bolted, and became the nominee of the Free-soilers. 
This drew off from the Democrats the special ad- 
mirers of Van Buren, and also many others, who felt 
that the time had come to oppose openly at the ballot- 
box the further extension of slavery. This split in the 
Democratic party was the handwriting on the wall. 

The campaign was quiet and dull. The defeat of 
Cass seemed a foregone conclusion. Still there were 
some brilliant campaigners, but beyond a question the 
most popular speaker on the stump was Van Buren's 
son, John, familiarly called " Prince John." He was 
taller than his father, well-proportioned and muscular, 
with a florid face, hair slightly sandy, and a clear blue 
eye. He had a musical and far-reaching voice, and, 
while he spoke without apparent effort, everybody even 
in his largest audiences heard him perfectly. He had 
vigor of thought, overflowing humor and flashing wit. 
I thought him the wittiest mortal that I ever heard 
speak. Addressing a throng in Ohio, he said, " You 
may think that I am like a lad that I saw the other day 
in the road, pushing with all his might against an over- 
turned cart-load of hay and crying as though his heart 
would break. I said, 'My boy, what's the matter?' 
He blubbered out, ' I don't care anything for the oxen 



POLITICS 257 

and cart and hay, but dad's under there.' " He pithily 
put the issues of the campaign, kept his audiences rip- 
pHng with laughter, and secured lots of votes for 
" dad ; " enough at all events to defeat Cass. 

I wish also briefly to mention the Presidential cam- 
paign of 1852. The Whig party, torn with dissension 
over the question of slavery, was rapidly falHng to 
pieces. While apparently destined to certain defeat, 
ignoring its able statesmen, and hoping once more to 
be aided by the fame of a military hero, it nominated 
for the Presidency, General Winfield Scott. While he 
had shown marked ability in camp and field, the rank 
and file of his party doubted his capacity for the high- 
est office of the Republic. Being proud and vain- 
glorious, he was unpopular even in the army. He had 
in him also a dash of demagogism. I heard him make 
a short speech to an audience in which there were a 
good many Irishmen ; making a direct appeal to them, 
he declared that he liked to hear their rich brogue. It 
was such a palpable bid for Irish votes that many 
laughed derisively. The impression also got abroad 
that his nomination was a trick of the politicians. This 
popular belief was humorously presented in a large 
cartoon, that was conspicuously posted in most of the 
cities of the North. The cartoon was simply a great 
rooster, with brilliantly-colored feathers and long, 
sharp spurs, while its head was Scott's. Around its 
bodv was a crimson sash, from which on the left side 



258 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

a sword hung. From the mouth of the Scott head a 
scroll was flung upward, in which were printed these 
words : " Cockadoodle doo, I'm Bill Seward's cock, 
whose cock are you ? " For a disintegrating party to 
nominate such a candidate was to court defeat, which 
in this case was no coy maiden. 

The opposing candidate was Franklin Pierce. In 
native ability he was inferior to Scott. Some one said 
that he was quite a man up in New Hampshire, but 
spread over the w-hole Union was " mighty thin." But 
his party was united, and he was thoroughly subservi- 
ent to it ; in short, being ready to do the bidding of 
the cotton lords, he was overwhelmingly elected. But 
the campaign was inexpressibly dull. Political meet- 
ings were few and my country neighborhood, during 
the entire summer and fall, scarcely felt a quiver of 
excitement. 

In closing these political reminiscences, I wish to 
note an incident worthy of preservation in something 
even more enduring than marble or brass. The polling 
place of our neighborhood was in the tavern at Ram- 
ville. The ballot-box was in an apartment adjoining 
the barroom. At the window where the votes were 
received stood, to the right and left, the challengers, 
representing the two great political parties. These 
guardians of the purity of the suffrage were men in 
whom all reposed undoubting confidence. Each voter, 
as though awed by the majesty of the law and govern- 



POLITICS 259 

ment and the great gravity of his duty, when he came 
within ten feet of the window, through which his vote 
must pass, reverently took off his hat and held it in his 
hand as he approached the polls, gave his name to the 
judges of the election, and deposited his ballot. He 
left the polling window with the same gravity of man- 
ner as that in which he approached it. That scene pro- 
foundly impressed my boyish mind with the dignity 
and solemnity of voting. I have never seen the same 
reverence at the polls elsewhere, and have concluded, 
perhaps erroneously, that it was a peculiarity and dis- 
tinguishing excellence of my country neighborhood. 







CHAPTER XV 



QUEER PEOPLE 



I BEGIN with Fulcard Peters, a unique character. 
He was of medium height, black-eyed, black-browed, 
black-haired. Thick, frowzy locks covered his pate. 
His hirsute neck and hands were black as a raven's 
breast. His short, stubbed beard covered his face like 
the soot of a chimney. His left foot had been crushed 
and was so misshapen that the side, instead of the sole 
of it, pressed the ground when he walked. He conse- 
quently moved with a halting, rolling gait. He was a 
farmer in a small way, and did odd jobs for his neigh- 
bors when opportunity offered. He had a wife and 
seven daughters, and needed for their support all that 

260 



QUEER PEOPLE 261 

he could in any way honestly scrape together. lie was 
a devout Presbyterian, prayed daily with his family 
gathered around him, and on Sundays went with his 
wife and children, neatly clad in their calico or woolen 
frocks, to the house of God. 

He was an excitable, enthusiastic man and, since 
his geese were always swans, was uniformly happy. 
What he had was a little better than anything pos- 
sessed by his neighbors. He had the best wife in all 
the world and the best girls on earth. At one time he 
raised a colt, the good points of which he was con- 
stantly praising ; but he would end his extravagant 
harangue, swinging his arms and raising his voice to a 
high pitch, by saying, " It is not perhaps the best colt 
that ever was, but it's a right smart chunk of a colt, a 
right smart chunk of a colt." And almost every boy 
in the neighborhood was wildly swinging his arms and 
in a like high, shrill tone was repeating what Peters 
said about that wonderful colt. 

He was a natural actor. He enforced his thoughts 
by profuse, angular gesticulation and ever-changing 
attitudes of body. One day he said to some of his 
neighbors, " Fm nearly dead with rheumatiz' ; my 
right shoulder is tur'bly painful ; it's so stiff that to 
save my life I can't raise my hand above my head." 
And as he spoke, to illustrate his words he thrust his 
right hand up into the air two feet above his head. 
His friends laughed immoderately, but he, quite un- 



262 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

conscious that by his spasmodic act he had flatly con- 
tradicted his words, wondered at their merriment. 

He was apt to become mentally inverted. One 
morning he came, rolling- and panting for breath, into 
the blacksmith shop, and in an excited way cried out, 
" Mr. Ponton, Mr. Ponton, can I borrow your gatepost 
to hew my broadax ? " — reminding us of another who, 
in a like inversion of thought, attempting to say, " That 
caps the climax," blurted out, " That climbs the capax." 

Of quite a dififerent type was Mr. Ebenezer Knohull. 
Although grown up to manhood, he was still merely 
a strapping boy. He retained through life his girlish 
voice. In many other respects he never " put away 
childish things." He was a member of the church, and 
by fits and starts did the duties that he had sworn to 
perform. He was a Baptist, and when believers were 
immersed, he was conspicuous by his attentions and 
helpfulness. He was also the master of ceremonies at 
funerals. After the sermon, which we always had on 
such occasions, there being no undertaker — our com- 
munity was not sufficiently developed for that — he 
opened the coffin, and announced, with as nnich dignity 
as a boyish man could command, in what order we 
should proceed to take our last view of the face of the 
departed. When this was over, he told the relatives 
of the deceased that they now had the opportunity of 
taking the last look. He proudly notified the pall- 
bearers when to take up their burden, and directed 



QUEER PEOPLE 263 

every movement at the burial. He did all this in a 
kindly way, for he had a good and tender heart, but his 
acts were flavored with such a manifest consciousness 
of his own importance as to make them doubly interest- 
ing. 

He had a childish pride in dress. He was as proud 
of every new article of clothing as a peacock is of its 
tail. He once donned a fresh pair of calfskin boots, 
and immediately went to John Erskine's to show them. 
He fell into conversation with Aunt Lucy, but she, to 
his great disappointment, failed to notice them. At 
last he said, " I smell new leather. What can it be ? " 
Then, looking hither and thither apparently to solve 
the mystery, he exclaimed, " Oh ! it's my new boots ! " 
The story, too good to keep, got out, and almost every 
boy in the community was repeating Knohull's words 
and laughing about his keen scent for new leather. 

This boyish man was a dyspeptic, at least he thought 
so. His table was always loaded with an abundance 
of food and like a growing youngster he ate heartily, 
often doubtless overloading his poor stomach. I once 
took dinner with him. He had boiled pork and cab- 
bage, great, mealy, boiled potatoes with their jackets 
on, string beans and squash, cucumbers and green corn, 
bread and butter, and honey, milk and coffee. It 
amazed me to see the dyspeptic eat. He devoured gen- 
erous portions of most of the viands under which his 
table groaned. At last he sat back in his chair, put 



2G4 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

his hands upon his abdomen, and sighed. I began to 
pity him, when he said, "" I have either eaten too much 
or not enough." Groaning in his pain, he added, " The 
trouble is I haven't eaten enough." Then, to my utter 
astonishment, he bolted two more large potatoes, a 
good-sized cucumber, two slices of bread, and drank 
a cup of cofifee. Then, declaring that he felt better, he 
left the table and smoked his pipe with evident enjoy- 
ment. That suffering dyspeptic lived on to eat and 
groan till he was almost ninety. In such a case, who 
can separate the real from the imaginary? 

Now, there was apparently nothing that this dyspep- 
tic did not know. He had exact and comprehensive 
knowledge of every question mooted by his neighbors. 
He never indulged in opinions, but, undisturbed by 
even a shadow of doubt, gave us the absolute facts per- 
taining to every problem that arose for solution. The 
probable or possible had no place in his thinking; he 
just knew. Omniscience was one of his foibles. He 
was always so cocksure that his dogmatism was fairly 
sublime. It gave no offense, but contributed largely 
to the gayety of the neighborhood. KnohuU's infalli- 
bility became a standing joke. Any matter for which 
no satisfactory solution could be found was, with a 
merry twinkle, referred to the oracle that scoffed at 
mysteries. A stranger entered the blacksmith shop and 
asked Mr. Greely, who stood at the forge blowing the 
bellows, if he had seen in the road any stray calves. 



QUEER PEOPLE 265 

Mr. Greely answered, "" No, I haven't," but, after a 
moment's reflection, added, " I know a man who can 
tell you just where they are. His name is Knohull, 
and he lives over yonder across the field," pointing out 
his house. " Did he tell you," inquired the somewhat 
puzzled stranger, "that he had seen them?" "Oh, 
no," responded the blacksmith, " Then," asked the 
questioner, " why do you say that he knows where the 
calves are? " " Why," was the ready response, " there 
is nothing that he does not know." 

Then this omniscient mortal was a veritable Mun- 
chausen. Not that he ever intentionally told a lie ; he 
meant to be truthful in all that he said. In all business 
deals he was square and trustworthy. What he prom- 
ised to do, he did. But whatever he imagined was as 
real to him as sawing wood or digging potatoes. In 
relating any transaction in which he was involved, he 
made no discrimination between facts and fancies. All 
alike was fact to him, and in his vanity he always 
painted himself as the martyr or the hero. His great 
stories of what he had seen or done or endured kept 
all about him in good humor. If he himself had dys- 
pepsia, the laughter that his preposterous yarns evoked 
did much to fend his neighbors from that fell disease. 

Here is one among many of his imaginative crea- 
tions. He was always prominent at raising-bees. In 
putting up the heavy frames of barns or houses, he 
took bravely hold of the hardest and most dangerous 



266 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

work. On such occasions his very vanity often made 
him a hero. Once his head was caught between two 
timbers, and squeezed till he saw stars. He declared 
that his skull literally cracked, and that some men, 
standing forty feet from him, distinctly heard his 
cranium split. But notwithstanding, he went right on 
working with his neighbors till the job was done. He 
told that glaringly absurd story for years, and every 
time he repeated it he added a little to it. He had no 
more doubt of its absolute truth than of his existence. 
Men listened to it and chuckled. So, to many other 
important services he added that of being the unwit- 
ting source of amusement to the community. He was 
a notorious and attractive personality, that we could 
not for a moment have spared. 

Still another eccentric character sometimes amused 
and sometimes amazed us. It was Eben Whitney. 
While only middle-aged, having been a hard worker, 
he already showed some signs of decay. He was 
round-shouldered, and usually walked partially stooped 
over with his hands locked together across the small 
of his back. He was quite bald, with thin, coarse, gray 
locks hanging from the sides and back of his cranium. 
He was bullet-headed. His eyes were small and steel- 
blue ; his eyebrows were only faintly perceptible ; his 
lips were rather circular as though pursed to whistle ; 
his under jaw turned up at the end like the prow of a 
canoe ; his nose, while straight cut, lay on his face like 



QUEER PEOPLE 267 

a piece of smooth dough, with the end bent down as if 
intending on the sly to leap into the sucker mouth just 
below. But in spite of his peculiar makeup, he was a 
man of great energy and power. 

He was the largest landowner in the neighborhood, 
but a slovenly farmer. His house had only a faint 
suggestion of having once been painted ; his gates and 
barn-doors were ofif their hinges ; his rail fences were 
dilapidated ; his stone walls were tumbling down ; bur- 
docks, thistles and alder bushes grew undisturbed 
around the edges of his fields ; but he often plowed, 
sowed, mowed and reaped with unusual vim. In sum- 
mer he was up with the sun. At that early hour his 
oxen were yoked and his horses harnessed for their 
toil. He drove them without mercy, yelled at them 
with the full power of his lungs, and that, at times, 
seemed almost limitless. If they did not move to suit 
him, he swore at them and cursed them in ringing 
tones. The more he swore the madder he got, and the 
louder he bawled. He could be heard a mile around. 
The people called him the Roarer. His favorite oath 
was " Dod blast ye." To his credit be it said that he 
at least attempted to veil his blasphemy. But he often 
threw off all restraint and roared out his cursing with- 
out any disguise. His own voice seemed to inflame 
him, and, while he swore, he belabored his oxen and 
horses with a black snake whip, or sometime*^, in his 
flashing wrath, pounded them with a club or a crowbar. 



268 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

He had in him a strain of cruelty. He kept a fierce 
bulldog and delighted in setting him on his hogs and 
cows. There was scarcely an ear in his herd of swine 
or his bevy of cattle that had not been lacerated by the 
teeth of that savage dog. To hear his pigs squeal and 
his steers bellow from fright and pain gave him a sort 
of grim joy. Of course he did not always act in that 
way; such conduct came by fits and starts. He was 
very emotional and passionate. Tossed hither and 
thither by sudden ebullitions of feeling, he appeared to 
be a bundle of contradictions. When his resentment 
was kindled by some fancied slight or indignity, he 
poured forth the bitterest, foolishest words or resorted 
to the meanest, most contemptible acts ; then sud- 
denly, his better nature asserting itself, he would utter 
honeyed words of appreciation and praise, or lavish 
deeds of kindness on the person that he had just bit- 
terly denounced. When seen in one mood he was re- 
garded as a very mean man ; when in the other, as a 
noble, generous soul. 

Like most emotional persons, he was also imagina- 
tive. What he did not see he pictured to be vastly 
more attractive than what was under his eye. The 
place where he spent his early life was a paradise that 
he never tired of praising. The great A\^est. of which 
he had read but had ncxcr seen, was to him the grand- 
est and most attractive ])ortion f)f the earth. He dilated 
on its vast corn and wheat fields, and the marvelous 



QUEER PEOPLE 269 

machinery with which the fanners tilled and reaped 
their broad acres. To some extent he caught their 
spirit, and had the honor of first introducing into our 
neighborhood the McCormick reaper. Crude as it then 
was, it was a wonder to us all. 

He stupidly fell out with Aunt Lucy, because while 
she borrowed his tea-salver to use at the marriage 
supper of her oldest daughter, she did not ask him to 
the wedding, to which none but relatives, aside from 
the officiating elder, were invited. The day after the 
nuptials were celebrated, he strode to her door in a 
towering passion, bawling out, " I want my sarver; 
blast it, to borrow my sarver and not ask me to the 
wedding ! " She, though thus suddenly surprised in 
her own castle, guarded her lips, made to the wrathful, 
jealous fool no explanation and uttered no word of 
apology, but, handing him his salver, politely thanked 
him for the use of it. As he went back to his own 
house, carrying it under his arm, still muttering his 
spleen and vengeance, he instinctively felt that he had 
been for a moment in the presence of one far superior 
to himself ; that she, high-spirited as she was, by her 
self-control and politeness had gained a complete vic- 
tory over him. He had not reached his own doorstep 
before he began to see that he had made an awful fool 
of himself, and was already ashamed of his wrathful 
conduct. Just as he started with his precious " sarver " 
from Aunt Lucy's door, she said with a hearty laugh, 



270 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

"He's got a conniption fit; he'll get over it," and he 
had gotten over it within twenty minutes. 

His resentful jealousy was for a day or two the talk 
and merriment of the whole neighborhood, while he 
went about with a hangdog look. At last, by seeming 
chance, he came by John Erskine's veranda, where 
Aunt Lucy was sitting, and began to talk pleasantly 
with her of his early life and experiences in Dutchess 
County. The tete-a-tete was full of good will. Neither 
made any allusion to the lacquered tea-salver. He did 
not, because he wished her to forget the past, and she 
did not, because she was a Christian lady. Soon after, 
he sent her a basket of luscious apples. The Roarer 
was now as good as, in his hot temper, he had been vul- 
gar and despicable. He lived a double life; one day 
Doctor Jekyll, the next Mr. Hyde. By turns he 
shocked and amused us. 

Religiously, he was for years a discordant note 
among us. While most of his neighbors went to 
church, he, out of mere bravado, often worked in his 
fields on Sunday or went hunting or fishing. The 
sharp crack of his shotgun or rifle harshly broke in on 
the calm of the Sabbath. Still he had some redeeming 
traits, and chief among them was his tender love for the 
wife of his youth. She was a noble woman. With al- 
most infinite patience she carried uncomplainingly the 
burden of his eccentricities and boorishness. She died. 
With bowed head, quivering lips and streaming eyes, 



QUEER PEOPLE 271 

he buried her. Some of his neighbors for the first time 
learned what a tender heart beat beneath all his out- 
ward roughness. About three years afterward he 
married a bu^com young woman. She evidently ac- 
cepted his hand for his broad acres. They quarreled, 
parted and were divorced. He then wooed and won a 
quiet, unobtrusive soul. They were happy. Two or 
three children, the fruit of this union, came to gladden 
his heart. His oldtime rudeness was gradually dis- 
appearing. To the astonishment of all, he began to 
attend church. God touched his heart and made him 
a new man. He cursed no more, but prayed. A violent 
inflammation put out his eyes. His wife led him by the 
hand along the country roads. With his outer eye he 
saw nothing; with his inner, he saw clearly. He was 
gentle as a dove. Onlookers could hardly believe that 
he once filled the neighborhood with his wrathful roar- 
ing and made their ears tingle with his profanity. 
With his soul full of the peace of God, he at last passed 
on into the other world, deprecating his past follies 
and grateful that they were forgiven. 

At the opposite extremity of the neighborhood lived 
Hamilton Serenus. The boys familiarly called him 
Ham. He was a large man, not portly but compactly 
built. His hair was blond and his expressionless eyes 
were a dull gray. He had an open countenance, hardly 
pleasing but not repulsive ; he was a decidedly neutral 
character. His body must have had nerves, but there 



272 WHEiN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

was no outward manifestation of them. Nothing 
seemed especially to attract or repel him. Apparently 
he never had an emotion of joy or sorrow. No one 
ever saw him excited ; his life ran on as smoothly and 
noiselessly as a river of oil. He went listlessly through 
the routine of farm-work. He plowed and planted and 
reaped, but neither droughts nor floods nor frosts gave 
him any anxiety. Threatened conflagration of the roof 
over his head failed to disturb his equanimity. Be- 
tween ten and eleven o'clock at night some young men, 
passing by his house, saw the shingles afire from fla- 
ming soot, that had fallen from a chimney, burning out. 
They excitedly rushed into his unlocked house and 
cried, " Mr. Serenus, your roof is on fire ! " He was 
in bed locked in slumber. Half aroused, he sleepily 
asked, "Is it?" In a rage they unitedly vociferated, 
" Yes, it's blazing in a half dozen places ! " In a pro- 
vokingly quiet tone, he said to his exasperated young 
friends, " Boys, won't you set up the ladder and carry 
some pails of water up on the roof and put out the 
fire?" "Yes." they thundered, "and we'll do it 
mighty quick or you'll burn up, if you don't git out of 
bed." He evidently had undoubted confidence in them, 
for while tliey. agitated and alarmed for his safety, 
put out the fire, he drowsily laid his unperturbed head 
back on his pillow and was again soon in tranquil 
slumber. 

This strange man lived on in the same unruffled 



QUEER PEOPLE 273 

serenity till he was a hundred and four years old. He 
was afflicted with no disease except old age, and that 
of course was incurable. The last day of his earthly 
life dawned. Leaning on his cane, he took his usual 
morning walk. When it was over, he lay down on a 
lounge to take his accustomed nap. He slept as quietly 
as a new-born babe, and never woke up. He was in 
his second childhood, and without disturbing him his 
Father gently took him home to care for him. While 
his heavenly life is doubtless more glorious than was 
his earthly life, it can scarcely be more serene. 

But Samuel Curtis, an altogether different type of 
man, lived to be older than even the placid soul that 
we have just considered. He stayed with us till he 
was an hundred and seven. He had been a soldier in 
the Revolutionary War, and was very proud of the 
paper, signed by George Washington, which certified 
his honorable discharge from the army, after the sur- 
render of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown. At his funeral 
his flint-lock musket, with its shining bayonet, lay upon 
his cofifin, while this precious paper was pinned to his 
shroud over his unthrobbing, patriotic heart. He was 
a marked man among us, tall, lean, agile, retaining to 
the day of his death the bearing of a soldier, often 
boasting, not in an offensive way, of his service to his 
country. 

Some of his family, however, were decidedly pecul- 
iar, and their careers affected in no small degree the 



274 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

character and history of our neighborhood. He had 
seven sons. While some of them were true men and 
good citizens, the rest were generally believed to be cor- 
rupt and crooked. Whether or not they justly deserved 
their shady reputation, public opinion for a long time 
was overwhelmingly against them. Still, their father 
never lost confidence in them, and publicly boasted 
that there was no family like his seven sons. But on 
one occasion John Story, our boss stutterer, said, 
" M-M-Mister Curtis, I-I-I've heard of wo-wo-one just 
such f-f- family." "What family was that?" asked 
Curtis. Story replied, " Ma-Ma-Mary Ma-Ma-Mag- 
dalene's." 

One of his sons, a six-footer, lean and gaunt like his 
father, was notoriously lazy. He worked only when 
driven to it by absolute necessity. His chief aim in life 
was to eat and sleep. It was against his principles to 
do any work whatever between meals. At times, how- 
ever, he was compelled to labor in order to get some- 
thing to eat. A farmer hired him to shear a few sheep. 
He was clipping a rich and heavy fleece from one of 
the largest ewes of the flock, but he carelessly now and 
then snipped off a piece of the poor creature's hide. 
At last, she vigorously protested by hard kicking, and 
he was too lazy to hold her till he had completed the 
clip. With her fleece half cut off, he let her slip from 
his grasp, saying, "Go. you old yoh. till you get over 
your stew," and the half-sheared sheep ran out of the 



QUEER PEOPLE 275 

barn and across a field, from which, the autumn before, 
Indian corn had been cut. The dry, stiff stubs of the 
stalks still remained. The half of the fleece that had 
been shorn from the forepart of the ewe's body, caught 
by the corn-stubs, was torn away piecemeal, so that the 
flight of the frightened sheep was marked by bits and 
bunches of her wool. The story of it quickly crept 
through the neighborhood. At night it was told, and 
laughed over, at the store. Oscar Gooch said that the 
sluggishness of Martin Curtis reminded him of a yoke 
of oxen in an adjoining town, that were so lazy that, 
when drawing the plow, the only way that you could 
tell whether they moved or not was by sighting them 
across a stick, and that the oflf ox was too lazy to wink 
when a fly lighted on his eyeball. What the later life 
of this indolent mortal was I never knew, but I pre- 
sume that in due time he died, if he weren't too lazy 
to draw his last breath. 

His brother Warren, in body, was his exact contrary. 
While only medium in stature, he was excessively fat. 
He tipped the scales at three hundred. When riding 
in his one-horse wagon, he filled the entire seat. He 
was a familiar figure, often seen on the road, driving 
at a slow trot his bob-tailed gray mare ; but no one 
ever sat beside him because there was no room for 
another. The boys, with a keen eye for a pat name, 
called him Old Wad. from " wad," to pad or stufif out. 
The whole neighborhood adopted this nickname, and 



270 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

while il iiuist have been galling to his feelings, the 
good-natured fat man was never known 1)\ word or 
act to resent it. 

But in disposition, as in body, these two brothers 
were opposites. Strange as it may seem, while the 
lean, tall one was sluggish, the short, corpulent one 
was energetic. The latter was always astir early in the 
morning, and he did his work promptly and thor- 
oughly. But some of his neighbors would have it 
that he was an enterprising sheep-thief. ( )ii this, for 
a long time, public opinion was divided. At last, how- 
ever, he was arrested for the alleged crime. 

His preliminar}' examination in court took place in 
November. The day was cool and pleasant. Close 
beside the country store was an empty harness-shop, 
twenty-five by fifteen feet. On one side of it was a 
platform about ten by five, and a foot high. On this 
platform stood a cross-legged basswood table, with a 
chair behind it. At the appointed hour. Squire Bean 
appeared with two volumes of State Statutes under his 
arm, which he placed on the table, together with fools- 
cap, goose-quill pens, and an earthen inkstand. Ex- 
citement ran high. The men and boys of the whole 
countryside seemed to be there. The improvised 
courtroom was soon packed almost to sufTfocation with 
a curious, pushing, noisy crowd. Many, unable to 
enter, stood outside round the door, craning their necks 
to get a glimpse of what was passing within. Petti- 



QUEER PEOPLE 277 

foggers, who seldom had a chance to air their legal 
wisdom, appeared for both the complainant and the 
accused. The question to be settled was whether there 
was sufficient evidence of the guilt of the defendant 
to warrant the court in binding him over to the Grand 
Jury. The battle began, and every moment waxed 
fiercer. When the pettifoggers became too virulent, 
Squire Bean, proud of his position and authority, shut 
them up and sat them down. All that was really known 
pertaining to the accusation in hand was admitted as 
evidence, and all mere gossip was sternly ruled out ; 
and the amount of baseless rumor was immense. 

At last the accused was permitted to tell his own 
story. As he was put under oath to " tell the truth, 
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," the feeling 
of the crowd grew even more intense. He declared 
unequivocally his absolute and entire injiocence. He 
testified that several of his neighbor's sheep at one time 
broke into his pasture, and mingled with his small 
flock. They were, however, soon separated from his 
sheep, and returned to their owner, and none of them, 
so far as he knew, remained in his fold. Awhile after, 
to supply the wants of his family, he killed a sheep, 
when a report sprang up that the slaughtered beast 
belonged to his accuser ; if it did, he had no knowledge 
of the fact. Such was the substance of his testimony. 
His story was straightforward and entirely reasonable. 

But he was sharply cross-examined. His good name. 



278 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

what was left of it, trembled in the balance. He was in 
imminent danger of being indelibly branded as a 
sheep-thief ; and in our country neighborhood that was 
the most despicable of all thieves. In comparison, a 
horse-thief was quite respectable. Standing in the 
presence of a possibility so much to be dreaded, 
weighed down by collops of fat, in a room that had 
become hot and foul by being closely packed, eyed by 
suspicious and unsympathetic neighbors, pelted with 
the questions of a merciless pettifogger, it was not 
strange that the beaded sweat stood out on his fore- 
head ; still, not a few onlookers regarded even that as 
an evidence of his guilt. 

He carried in the large right-hand pocket of his sack 
coat, a great, red bandanna, with which he again and 
again mopped his brow. A mischievous lad slyly slipped 
into that pocket the hind leg of a sheep, and when the 
accused next took out his handkerchief, he also pulled 
out the sheep's leg, which fell to the floor with a re- 
sounding whack. There was one simultaneous shout, 
followed by roars of laughter, stamping of feet, clap- 
ping of hands, and hideous catcalls. For a few mo- 
ments the courtroom was a veritable Bedlam. Squire 
Bean cried, " Order, order." but he could not in the 
least degree suppress the hooting, yelling and laughter ; 
a man might as well attempt to still a tornado by 
whistling against it. Old W^ad blushed and perspired 
and grinned; he seemed at bottom to half appre- 



QUEER PEOPLE 279 

ciate the grim practical joke. When the uproar died 
away the examination was soon completed. The im- 
partial judge promptly announced that there was no 
evidence on which he could justly bind over the accused 
to the Grand Jury. 

Notwithstanding the decision of the court vindicated 
the defendant, for many years the strong suspicion that 
he was a sheep-thief persistently hung over him. 
While in all probability he was innocent, half the chil- 
dren of the neighborhood, hearing the talk of their 
elders, regarded him as a thief. But like an honest 
man, he resolutely faced the adverse public opinion. 
As the years rolled by, he steadily grew less rotund in 
body, till at last he was spare and straight, and with 
his superfluous fat went also his unsavory reputation. 

But what he was reputed to have done was inerad- 
icably woven into the history of our neighborhood. 
The place where he lived has ever since been familiarly 
called Lambshanks Corners, and the place where he 
was examined before Squire Bean was known for half 
a century as Ramville. Both men and neighborhoods 
often unjustly sufifer from detracting tongues; we 
should be absolutely sure that a man is bad before we 
call him so ; and when we are quite sure of it, even 
then we ought not to proclaim it unless it be absolutely 
demanded for the public good. 

But chief among these queer folks was Joseph Tight, 
whom everybody called simply Joe. When 1 first knew 



280 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

him he was about forty years old. His face was cov- 
ered with a brown, stubbed beard. Most of the farmers 
shaved at least twice a week, but Joe did not trouble 
himself to cut his beard more than twice a month. He 
was slightly bald, and the thin locks which remained 
were already sprinkled with gray. His small eyes were 
bright and keen. His nose, while short, was straight 
and well-cut. His lips were thin and firmly com- 
pressed. He was about five feet eight inches tall. His 
body was muscular and well-knit. He looked like a 
man whose inner self it would be very difficult to reach. 
Whether his surname was prophetic of his character, 
I know not, but it was the one word which most per- 
fectly expressed him. 

He dressed poorly. In the winter his coat, pants 
and vest were shoddy. He wore no linen, but donned 
a red woolen shirt, a cheap cloth cap, and stogy boots. 
In summer he went barefoot, wearing a coarse cotton 
shirt, tow breeches and a chip hat. 

He was a bachelor. Whether in earlier life he had 
ever felt the flame of love no one ever found out. 
There was a rumor that a betrothed had died and that, 
out of absolute faithfulness to her memory, he had re- 
solved never to woo another. But this was mere gos- 
sip, with probably no better foundation than the sur- 
mise of a fading spinster, who would have been glad 
to have wedded Joe with his dollars. Compared even 
with the most thrifty in the community, he was rich. 



QUEER PEOPLE 281 

He owned two valuable farms, and held mortgages on 
the estates of those who were not as prosperous as he. 
He had money in the bank. When circumstances were 
unfriendly to his neighbors and they were compelled to 
raise money at a sacrifice, he always stood ready to 
shave every well-secured note. He knew how to get 
money, and he knew how to keep it. 

He lived in an unpainted, story-and-a-half house. 
A maiden aunt was his housekeeper. The rooms of his 
domicile were meanly and scantily furnished. His 
aunt, who faithfully served him, was cheaply clad. She 
bought most of her poor clothing by furtively selling 
the hens' eggs at the country store. She knew too well 
how futile it was to solicit cash from her thrifty 
nephew. 

His table was spread with the bare necessities of life. 
Bread and butter, potatoes and salt pork, beans and 
onions were the chief articles of diet. To these were 
added Dutch cheese, skimmed milk, and in their season 
such small fruits as the aunt could coax from the ill- 
kept garden ; but she could never draw on Joe's purse 
for any luxuries. In fact, he often gave his harvest- 
hands for dinner nothing but bread and milk. The 
cream had been so completely removed from the milk 
that it had a bluish hue and was on the verge of becom- 
ing sour. At a midday meal, Joe sitting at the head 
of the table, one of his harvesters, having tasted the 
milk, remarked, " This milk is under pungent convic- 



282 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

tion, if it has not already met with a change." By all 
odds Joe was the most penurious mortal of the whole 
neighborhood. The richer he became, the stingier. He 
held his purse by the strings, and the more he put into 
it, the tighter the strings drew. He begrudged to 
passers-by the smell of his clover that crept over the 
stone wall into the road. To every appeal for charity 
he pleaded poverty, and when he denied a request for 
money his lips shut like the jaws of a steel trap. 

But this miserly bachelor had a soft spot in his 
heart. He would cheerfully go out of his way to serve 
any of his neighbors, if the service did not require 
him to part with his money. To help others he was 
willing to give nerve and muscle, but the cash, which 
he had gathered and over which he gloated, never. Yet 
he longed for immortality, — who does not ? Die he 
knew he must, but to be utterly forgotten was to him 
abhorrent. He knew well enough that, living as he 
did, no one when he was gone would ever put at the 
head of his grave even a cheap marble slab. So he 
determined that, while living, he would raise a monu- 
ment to himself. He astonished the community by buy- 
ing one of the best lots in the graveyard, for which he 
paid the cash. There were no cemeteries in our coun- 
try neighborhood ; our burying-places were simply and 
baldly graveyards. 

Joe's neighbors, usually generous in their estimate 
of others, began now to think that he was at last grow- 



QUEER PEOPLE 283 

ing benevolent ; at all events, he was now able to part 
with some of his money ; but they soon saw that his 
old selfishness was simply manifesting itself in a new 
form. He went to a distant city and purchased a 
granite monument, which was transported to his new 
lot in the graveyard. This act, so unusual, so contrary 
to the customs of our countryside, set everybody to 
talking. But Joe, apparently oblivious to the untoward 
gossip that filled the air, had a solid foundation of stone 
laid, on which the monument was placed. This con- 
sisted of a polished granite base about eighteen inches 
thick, three and a half feet long, and over two feet 
wide. Upon each corner of the base was a granite 
pillar, about three and a half feet high, and on the 
pillars was laid a massive canopy. On the end of the 
base, before which Joe's prospective grave was to be 
dug, was carved the name, Joseph Tight, and the date 
of his birth. Underneath was left a space where the 
day, month and year of his death were finally to be 
chiseled, and where perhaps some text of Scripture 
would be made to tell a lie. The monument, though 
so utterly incongruous with its surroundings, was a 
wonder to the neighborhood, and in fact its only speci- 
men of art. 

Soon after the erection of this sepulchral pile, the 
Methodists determined to remodel their meeting-house. 
Everybody was asked to contribute, and there was a 
generous response from all, without respect to their 



284 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

denominational preferences. Joe's new and costly 
monument awakened a hope that he would now break 
the uniform record of his life, and give some money to 
this praiseworthy enterprise. But when asked by the 
most winsome young woman in the Methodist congre- 
gation, as usual he pleaded poverty, and when he said 
no, those thin lips of his shut, as they were wont to do, 
like the lips of a vise. 

The young men of the neighborhood now determined 
to teach their stingy neighl)or a wholesome lesson. 
A half-dozen of them at evening twilight strolled 
along the road toward the burying-ground. A hard 
shower, with thunder and lightning, suddenly swept 
across the sky, driving them for shelter into a cattle- 
shed. In a few minutes a torrent of rain fell. When 
they emerged from their hiding place, the hollows by 
the roadside were full of water. As they went on their 
way, dark clouds still hung over them, so that it was 
pitch-dark. Coming to the graveyard, they saw in it 
what seemed to be a ghost. It was white and appeared 
to be struggling to lift itself out of a grave. Ever and 
anon it bowed its head to the earth and then suddenly 
lifted it up again ; and at times when the head was 
elevated, it wildly threw its arms about. The young 
men shivered with fear. The cold sweat started on 
brow and spine. Their scalps began to creep, and 
" each particular hair " seemed " to stand on end." 
Leonard Matthews at last broke the oppressive silence 



QUEER PEOPLE 285 

by faintly whistling, when in whispers his companions 
dared him to get over the fence into the burying- 
ground. This dare roused his faltering courage, and 
he started on his perilous adventure. Each step made 
him braver. Cautiously he soon climbed over the 
fence, and with quivering flesh and timid step, he went 
slowly on toward the ghost. Coming near it, he saw 
it bow its head and heard it hiss, like the Old Serpent 
in Tartarus. He stood as though riveted to the earth. 
Horror shook his spirit ; but thinking of the challenge 
of his friends, he pumped up courage to take another 
step forward, when the frightened ghost, with head 
erect, began to retreat, crying as it went, gans, gans, 
gans. He burst into a loud laugh. Those who had 
dared him were soon by his side, berating themselves 
for having been frightened almost out of their wits 
by a white goose. 

A hollow in the ground, filled with water by the 
copious shower, had attracted the goose, that was duck- 
ing itself and in its joy splashing the water with its fly- 
ing wings. Hence the ghost and its movements, seen 
at a distance in the dark. I do not say that all sup- 
posed ghosts are white geese : but this one was nothing 
but a white goose, and a company of usually brave 
young men stood before it for nearly a half hour, con- 
gealed with terror. They were a set of goslings, but 
those who poked fun at them might have been no 
braver. 



286 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

The squawking ghost gone, the heavens cleared and 
the stars twinkled. Soon the full moon lifted its shi- 
ning face above the horizon and began to climb toward 
the zenith. The night became almost like day. The 
young men, bent on mischievous fun, found a stray 
hog in the road and killed it. They then carried it into 
the graveyard, laid it on the base of Joe's monument, 
between the pillars beneath the canopy, and wrote 
under his name, in the place left for the record of his 
death, with red chalk, in large bold letters, " This hog 
is dead." 

The next day the whole community was filled with 
a quiet, pleasurable excitement ; to be sure the people 
were too good to approve of vandalism, in fact they 
sharply condemned it; but their faces involuntarily 
rippled with smiles while they uttered their words of 
disapprobation, and nobody seemed to be able even to 
guess who the culprits might be. Joe was too shrewd 
a man openly to show resentment. His thin lips were 
hermetically sealed, and no one knew his thoughts 
and feelings. He quietly removed and buried the hog, 
and went on as usual with his tasks. He was mean, 
but he was a man. 

A few years after, Joe died and, like Dives, was 
buried, — buried by his monument of granite, not in- 
deed with pomp and parade, but, according to his own 
request, unostentatiously and cheaply. His ruling pas- 
sion was strong even in death. When the earth had 



QUEER PEOPLE 287 

been heaped up over his body, his charitable neighbors 
fondly hoped, against pretty strong evidence, that, 
through the boundless grace of God, he had gone 
where his bonds would not burn nor his gold melt. 
But they could not help thinking, if their hope should 
be realized, how delighted Joe would be to gaze at 
gates of solid pearl and to walk on streets of solid 
gold. Still, they feared that he might carry off the 
gates and dig up the streets. 






^, ^'m 







^ 



CHAPTER XVI 



THE " HORNET " 



There was one man in our neighborhood so very 
pecuhar that he belonged to no class, but stood wholly 
apart by himself. I call him the Hornet reluctantly, 
for the cognomen may possibly do him some injustice. 
He was amiable by fits and starts ; so is the hornet. 
When stirred up, the hornet stings ; so did he when his 
inflammable passion was fired, and the tiniest spark 
would often produce combustion. Then, with incred- 
ible swiftness, he flew hither and thither, piercing with 
his sharp, venomous sting the fairest reputations in 
the whole countryside. 

Tn stature this strange mortal was only five feet five. 

288 



THE "HORNET" 289 

He had a shock-head of coarse, brown hair, heavy, 
shaggy eyebrows, a small, grayish, hazel eye, a Roman 
nose, a mouth with lips straight-cut and firmly set, 
and a strong, square lower jaw, with double teeth all 
around it. He carried his right shoulder two or three 
inches higher than the left, and was bow-legged. 
When he walked he toed in, like an Indian. He was 
lean ; his compact body was simply bone, sinew and 
muscle. There was not a lazy hair on him. He was 
the distilled essence of energy, a steam engine on legs. 
He owned two farms a mile apart. He never 
worked long at a time on either, but flitted from one 
to the other ; now for an hour or two he toiled with 
all his might on the one, and then drove his team like 
Jehu to the other, where, for a short time, he made the 
dirt fly, then driving swiftly back to the home-farm, 
he laid hold on some new piece of work there. He 
never continued long at any one task. With incredible 
energy, for an hour he pitched into one job, and then 
dropped it for another. He was by turns in this field 
and in that. For a short time .the grass fell before his 
swinging scythe, then the weeds in his corn-field for 
an hour were uprooted by his busy hoe. Now he was 
picking up stone, then he was cutting up the burdocks 
and Canada thistles that came uninvited to torment the 
farmer. When his yellowing wheat was ready to har- 
vest, he drove back and forth between his two estates 
as though he were mad, cutting a little here and a little 



290 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

there. He was at his tasks by four o'clock in the 
morning. As soon as the crow was up, we could hear 
him whetting the scythe of his grain-cradle, and often 
at eight in the evening he was still cradling or raking 
and binding his grain. 

He went through with twice or thrice the motions 
necessary for the accomplishment of his work. An 
onlooker might justly conclude that he believed in a 
maximum of labor for a minimum of result. The pres- 
ent generation has to learn from books how we har- 
vested grain in " ye goode olden tyme." In my boy- 
hood, wheat was generally cut with the cradle and laid 
by the cradler in an orderly swath across the field. 
He was followed by one who raked up the grain into 
bundles, and bound them, with bands which he deftly 
made of the newly-cut straw. This was hard work 
when the cradler was strong and ambitious to cut more 
acres of grain than his neighbors. Triumphantly to 
take the last clip from his cradle at sunset was a glory 
and joy like that of a conqueror. More than once, 
when in my teens, that exulting experience was mine. 

Now, Jim Bean seldom hired any one to help him 
even in harvest-time ; he loved his money too much to 
expend it in that lavish manner. He and his over- 
worked boys unaided reaped and gathered in the 
ripened grain. He alone was often both cradler and 
raker and binder. He would first cut a lialf-acre or 
more of his wheat, then rake it up into bundles and 



THE "HORNET" 291 

bind it. His movements while at this work were nerv- 
ous and quick and astonishingly numerous. He raked 
up the grain into a bundle, jumped over it and made 
the band to bind it with, jumped back over it again 
and bound it, leaped over it the third time, threw it 
out of the swath, raked out the butts of the bundle, 
and with flashing movement went through the same 
senseless process in binding bundle after bundle. One 
day I saw Oscar Gooch, standing in the road with 
puzzled look, watching Bean as he was raking and 
binding wheat ; at last with a laugh he said, " Why ! 
he's raking and binding, isn't he? I thought at first 
that he was fighting bumblebees." 

He was often noisy, as well as unusually active. He 
indulged in shrill whistles and cries. What they all 
meant was a mystery to us. When his horses, drawing 
heavy loads, needed urging, we could hear him at a 
long distance cry, " Hep-hep-hep-hep," so that the boys 
nicknamed him " Hep," and in view of his short stat- 
ure, they often irreverently called him " Little Hep." 

While he was strong and agile in body, he was also 
keen and alert in mind. His educational advantages 
had been meagre, but he diligently read some weekly 
papers, among them the New York Tribune, and a few 
fairly good books. Having an unusually retentive 
memory, he could glibly retail all that he read. He 
had Greeley's editorials at his tongue's end. His mind 
was methodical. He took up one subject after another, 



292 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

such as agitated his neighborhood or the country at 
large, and investigated them as thoroughly as he could 
with the scant helps at his coniniand. In turn the 
tariff, the annexation of I'exas, the abolition of slavery, 
total abstinence, or some religious question claimed his 
attention and absorbed his thought. And whatever 
problem he had in hand, for the time being excluded 
from consideration all others. He incessantly talked 
it both to acquaintances and strangers. Once, I re- 
member, he became absorbed in the subject of baptism, 
and must constantly discuss it with somebody, or burst. 
Seeing a stranger driving along the road, he ran across 
the field in which he was working, jumped over the 
fence into the highway, and planting himself in the 
wagon-track before the oncoming traveler, cried out, 
" Sir, have you of late examined the subject of bap- 
tism?" The stranger, half in doubt as to the sanity 
of his questioner, stopped his horse and courteously 
replied, " No, I have not." Then Squire Bean poured 
out upon him a flood of borrowed erudition, to which 
the stranger, having listened with an incredulous smile, 
scarcely knowing whether the scene of which he 
seemed to form a part was fancy or fact, drove on 
laughing over the strange and ludicrous incident. 

At another time the subject of total abstinence took, 
possession of him, and on all occasions had the right 
of way. He talked it at home, on the street, in the 
store, in the houses of his neighbors, — talked it to the 



THE "HORNET" 293 

old, to the young, to the wise and the unwise. One 
evening he called upon John Erskine that he might 
give vent to his boiling, bubbling zeal. He began at 
once to shower on the good deacon the scraps of 
knowledge that he had industriously gathered and 
stowed away in his noddle, concerning the deleterious 
effects of alcohol on the blood, arteries, brain and 
stomach. Although, as we have before noted, honest 
John had always been a temperance man, he sat and 
listened, dumb with amazement, to the torrent of in- 
formation that ceaselessly flowed from the clattering 
tongue of his neighbor, on a subject with which, up to 
that time, he had thought himself fairly familiar. 

Squire Bean, having at last exhausted his fund of 
knowledge on the destructive effects of alcohol, turned 
to the discussion of the comparative amounts of it in 
whiskey, brandy and hard cider. Now the Squire had 
at times heard some of his neighbors say, " I don't see 
the pint," or, " He made that pint very clear," and in 
some way he had learned that such a use of the word 
" pint " was wrong. But in correcting the mistake, 
he was so zealous and thorough that he had apparently 
wholly eliminated the word " pint " from the English 
language. So, as he went on volubly with his discus- 
sion, he said, '^ I suppose that there is about one-fifth 
as much alcohol in a point of hard cider as in a point 
of whiskey." Now up to that moment no one of the 
Erskines had said a word ; they were respectfully 



294 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

silent, while their glib-tongued neighbor talked on 
without a break; to have tried to get in a word edge- 
wise would have been foolhardy ; but when honest 
John's sons and daughters heard the phrase " a point 
of cider — a point of whiskey," there was a suppressed 
titter which in spite of themselves became a low but 
audible laugh. The Squire's Niagara of words ceased. 
He fidgeted a little. He evidently had not the slightest 
notion of what all at once made that group of children 
so mirthful. He dropped some commonplace remark 
about the weather, rather abruptly said, " Good 
evening," and was gone. Before he was five rods 
away the subdued laughter swelled into a roar, and 
ever after the ''point of cider" and ''point of 
whiskey " contributed to the gaiety of their life. 

This unique and really talented man was a member 
of the Baptist Church. To his credit, he daily read 
the Scriptures and prayed with his family. His breth- 
ren, recognizing his ability, made him superintendent 
of the Sunday School, and he ably met the responsi- 
bilities of this important position. His follow citizens 
elected him justice of the peace, and no one in our 
neighborhood ever filled the office with greater ability 
and probity. He showed by the manner in which he 
presided in the court and In- the keenness and just- 
ness of his decisions that, if he had had a thorough 
college education, he might have ranked among 
the ablest members of the bar. But alas! he had 



THE "HORNET" 295 

another side; and that other side generally held the 
stage. 

He was both ambitious and jealous. When those 
two qualities are united in the same character, look out 
for trouble. He had a brother named Horton. No 
two men were ever more unlike than these two 
brothers, James and Horton Bean. The latter, take 
him all in all, was the brightest ornament of the 
whole countryside. When a young man he taught 
district school, and as a pedagogue was very successful 
and popular. He afterwards was chosen superin- 
tendent of schools, and became a favorite of the 
teachers and the people. He was made supervisor of 
his county for a series of years ; with marked ability 
he represented his political district in the legislature 
of the State, and was strongly urged by his fellow 
citizens to become their representative in the national 
congress. Mirahile dichi! this he modestly and firmly 
refused. He was well fitted for such a responsibility. 
The political history of our republic was at his 
tongue's end, and he had a clear grasp of the currents 
of national thought, but he thrust aside the honor so 
warmly profifered him, declaring that he was not capa- 
ble of filling so high an office. 

He was also a genuine Christian. His piety was 
manly, without a touch of namby-pamby. If ever a 
man walled with God, it was he. He talked with the 
Lord as a friend talks with a friend. He was a student 



296 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

of the New Testament. While working on his farm, 
he carried a leather-bound copy in his trousers pocket. 
When unobserved by others, he took it out and read 
two or three verses, and when he had gotten a thought 
on which he could meditate, he replaced it and went 
on with his labor. His words were always pure. No 
one ever heard him in conversation use any expletive 
whatever; as his Lord commanded, his speech was 
simply " yea, yea ; nay, nay." He often by word com- 
mended to others the religion of Christ, but did it so 
simply and naturally and with such a kindly spirit that 
he offended no one ; but he still more strongly com- 
mended it by his life. To a remarkable degree he lived 
over again the life of Christ. If any one did him an 
injury, he seized the first opportunity of doing that 
man a favor. He taught us by example how to return 
good for evil. And there was no jollier soul in our 
neighborhood ; but his jollity was on a high plane ; it 
partook of the joy of his Lord. 

One day, his face brimming with delight, he asked 
me to step into his garden. There he had trained a 
grapevine over an oval lattice about five feet high. 
The clusters of grapes, lying close together on the lat- 
tice, formed a roof that was purpling in the sunshine. 
With a hearty laugh, he exulted over his success and 
said, " T cultivate this vine according to the Scripture. 
Jesus said, ' Every branch in mc that beareth not fruit 
he taketh away ; ' don't you see that I have cut oflf 



THE "HORNET" 297 

every unfruitful branch ? ' and every branch that bear- 
eth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more 
fruit.' That is just what I have done. I have removed 
from every fruit-bearing branch all parasites; and 
just see what quantities of grapes hang on these 
branches." And his glad laugh was so contagious 
that I laughed too. While he instructed me, he filled 
me with his own joyful spirit. 

I met him one day as he was returning on foot from 
the creek, a mile away, where he had fished for an 
hour or two. He was carrying by a string two fine 
pickerel, and was happy over his catch. In a cheery 
tone he suggested the outline of a sermon that had 
occurred to him while he fished. Quoting Jesus' words, 
" I will make you fishers of men," he said, " There 
were places in the creek where I could catch no fish, 
because none were there. So if we are going to catch 
men, first, we must go where men are. Then T found, 
when I got to the places where the fish abounded, that 
I could catch none of them unless I had the right kind 
of bait. So, in the second place, when we go where 
men are, we can't catch them unless we offer them the 
truth, just as Jesus taught it. In the third place, we 
can't catch fish if we are violent in our movements: 
that frightens them away ; so in catching men, we must 
be gentle, and present the truth to them in love. And 
in the fourth place, T found that after a pickerel had 
taken my hook, if T attempted to lift it up with a jerk 



298 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

from the water, it got ofif in\' hook or made way with 
it. So when men take the bait of the gospel, we must 
not try to jerk them by main force into the Kingdom, 
but let them have line to play with, and we shall be 
able to draw them from the world into the Kingdom 
of God." The spirit of such a man was contagious. 
All profoundly respected him, and almost everybody 
that knew him, loved him. 

But his own brother envied him. No one ever heard 
James speak a favorable word of Horton; but on the 
contrary, he whispered in every ear open to him his 
malignant slanders. The gadding hornet seized every 
opportunity to plant his fiery sting in his own brother, 
and that brother one of the noblest of Christian men. 
And Horton bore it all in absolute silence. He never 
uttered a syllable in his own defense ; it was not neces- 
sary for him to do so ; no decent person for a moment 
believed the detestable mutterings of James. But 
Squire Bean determined, when occasion ofifered, to tell 
in bold tones what a despicable wretch Horton was. 
The coveted opportunity soon came. It was the annual 
meeting of the school district to elect trustees. Horton 
Bean was uniformly elected a trustee without a dis- 
senting vote. He never sought the office ; he never 
stooped to any of the corrupt methods of the small, un- 
scrupulous politician ; the office sought him, since he 
was manifestly best fitted for it of any man in the com- 
munity. But little James Bean wanted it, and tried 



THE "HORNET" 299 

hard to secure the votes of his neighbors by abusing 
Horton. His backbiting, however, evidently had made 
little or no impression, since not a single ballot was cast 
for him. This enraged him. Although it was already 
half past nine o'clock, he took the floor and, for three 
quarters of an hour, poured out a speech of incredible 
bitterness. He was smart, tonguey, incisive. He 
scolded like a fish-woman. His fellow citizens, dumb 
with amazement, heard him without protest to the 
end. I was a youngster, but shall never forget how, 
as I listened, every nerve in my body seemed to 
quiver. For the first time I learned that a good man 
might be accused, even by his brother, of doing despi- 
cable things that he abhorred and of which he was 
incapable. 

When the Squire sat down, he heard from his neigh- 
bors no word, and saw no sign, of approval. The house 
was still as death. All eyes instinctively turned to 
Horton Bean. He rose in his own defense. He was 
intensely in earnest. His moral character had been 
called in question, and that by his own brother. Still 
he had perfect control of himself. His mind was 
methodical ; he answered James' speech point by point, 
and showed how foolish and baseless his reckless ac- 
cusations were. His lucid, candid reply brought relief 
to all present. It was near eleven o'clock at night 
when the meeting adjourned. All went to their homes 
in silence, filled with chagrin that their usually peace- 



300 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ful neighborhood had been disgraced by blatant 
slanders, poured out on the fairest man among us. 

But Jim Bean was also busy in other quarters. He 
fell out with his pastor, Elder Josiah Martin. The 
elder had raised on a piece of rich swamp land a great 
crop of white turnips, and Squire Bean bought ten 
bushels of them for sixty cents. He declared that when 
cooked they turned out to be stringy, and that the Elder 
had cheated him. This alleged crookedness of his 
pastor now became the theme on which he unceasingly 
harped. He told it wherever he went ; he reiterated it 
to men, women and children. All about him grew 
weary of the absurd yarn, but he never. For ten long 
years he kept at it. 

He was " smart as a whip." Nobody but a man of 
great ability could have talked ten years about ten 
bushels of turnips for which he paid the enormous sum 
of sixty cents. But he was as tight as he was smart. 
He pinched every silver quarter that he got hold of 
till the eagle on it squealed. He had various and ac- 
cumulating grievances which he incessantly aired. His 
imagination was active. Every mole-hill swelled up 
into a mountain. For a long period he quit the Church. 
He did not care to associate intimately with his neigh- 
bors. When the pathmaster called us out to work on 
the road, at his own request a job was assigned him 
apart from the rest. With his neighbors all around 
him, he lived an isolated life. He became constantlv 



THE "HORNET" 301 

more and more morose and misanthropic. He refused 
to speak to some of his old acquaintances ; still, if any 
one would listen to his fancied wrongs, he always 
poured them forth with a few new touches, that were 
pure creations of his imagination. At last, the com- 
munity dubbed his oft-repeated diatribe, " Jim Bean's 
lingo," and spoke of it with derisive laughter. 

Horton Bean in a true Christian spirit, forgiving 
the wrongs done him, several times had patiently Us- 
tened to the absurd and slanderous " lingo " of his 
brother. At last he said to his wife, " I shall never 
listen to it again." A few days after he had occasion 
to visit James, and found him about ten o'clock in the 
forenoon, working in one of his fields by the roadside. 
He had been with him only three or four minutes, 
when his brother started in on that malignant, thread- 
bare harangue. Horton Bean was an agile man ; turn- 
ing his back on James, he put his fingers in his ears 
and, running with all his might, leaped over the fence 
into the road ; he did not, however, take the road to his 
own house, but flew across it, leaped over the opposite 
fence into the field, and without slacking his pace ran 
across one field after another, leaping the fences and 
with his fingers in his ears rushed up upon his own 
veranda. His startled wife hurried out to him, ex- 
claiming, "Why, Horton, what is the matter?" He 
answered : " T told you that T would never hear that 
* lingo ' again. James began it, and I ran with all 



302 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

my might till I got here." By sundown all the neigh- 
borhood had heard the story. Without the utterance 
of a word a sharp rebuke had been administered, and 
all the people said, Amen. But for years after James 
never again spoke to Horton. 

At last we look in upon a hay-field council. John 
Erskine, in one of his well-cultivated meadows, was 
mowing a heavy crop of clover and timothy. It was 
about the middle of the forenoon, when Mr. Watrous, 
one of his fellow deacons, put in an appearance. He 
had come to counsel with him as to what the Church 
ought to do with Jim Bean, who for years had been 
viciously backbiting his brethren, and, foremost among 
them, his own pastor. " Well," said honest John, 
measuring his words, " that is a difficult question. His 
wife and two of his children are faithful members with 
us, and in disciplining him we don't want to offend 
and injure them. Perhaps we shall do most good by 
letting him go on unnoticed. Then, we must avoid, if 
possible, making a martyr of him ; he would never tire 
of showing his wounds. He seldom speaks to me. 
although I never did him any wrong. I confess that 
I can't quite make him out. I always speak to every 
living thing about me, to my pigs, my horses, my cattle, 
my sheep, my dog, and all make some answer; the 
dog wags his tail when I say good morning to him ; 
but when I say good morning to Bean, he often passes 
on with no more notice of me than if I didn't exist. 



THE "HORNET" 803 

Why, he isn't as polite as my dog. Still, a few days 
ago, having some business with him, we had a square 
talk and I asked him why he destroyed the peace of 
the whole neighborhood and kept up such a row? He 
said that he knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help 
it ; he was so constituted. " I swan," — for so the 
good deacon sometimes swore, and in this case the 
provocation was unusually great, — "I swan, it is 
hard to endure that little pest." 

But the rising indignation of honest John was 
stayed by the arrival of the pastor, Elder Martin, who 
had come to consult with Erskine about that sheep of 
his flock, which had turned out to be a hornet. Erskine 
and Watrous said, " That is just what we've been 
talking about," and rehearsed to the Elder the sub- 
stance of their conversation. Now, the patience of the 
Elder was almost gone. With incredible long-sufifering 
he had endured in silence the vituperative tongue of 
Squire Bean. He had, however, begun to think that 
further forbearance might no longer be a virtue. 
" Why," he said, " for ten years, while he has been in- 
cessantly slandering me, I have carried him in my 
arms, hoping that he might be led to change his course, 
but there is no sign of improvement; in fact, his 
viciousness constantly increases. If he were only a big 
devil, I could get along with him ; but he is such a 
little devil, there is no dignity at all about him." 

These words from the good-natured, charitable Elder 



304 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

fairly stunned his deacons ; they had never before 
heard such an outburst from his Hps. But the ques- 
tion as to what should be done was still unsolved. 
While all three felt that severe measures should be 
employed, all were in doubt as to the wisdom of such a 
course. At last Elder Martin said : " Perhaps we'd 
better let things slide on as they are a while longer, 
keep right on at our church-work as though Bean 
didn't exist, just as you, Deacon Erskine, keep on mow- 
ing until it's done." Honest John believed the Elder's 
counsel to be right, it being in substance what he him- 
self had suggested ; still, unable wholly to suppress 
his irritation at the pestiferous conduct of Bean, he 
responded, " I suppose that is our best way, but it's 
hard for me to mow right on, without saying a word, 
with a hornet in my breeches." The good deacon's 
observation brought down the house. There was a 
hearty laugh, a warm hand-shake, and a fervent 
good-by. John Erskine mowed on. and Jim Bean, 
through the kindness of his brethren, went unwhipped 
of iustice. 




CHAPTER XVII 



BUCOLIC DOCTORS 



There were two in our neighborhood. Everybody 
called them doctors ; the cognomen, physician, was sel- 
dom heard among us. One of them. Dr. Hatfield, was 
well-read in medicine and surgery, and kept abreast 
with all discoveries that pertained to his profession. 
He was always neatly dressed and, in manner, un- 
affectedly polite. He was, in short, " An affable and 
courteous gentleman," who commanded universal re- 
spect. 

To a greater or less extent we all shared in his ex- 
periences. When anybody in all the countryside was 
ill, everybody there quickly knew it. Without tele- 

305 



306 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

phone or telegraph the report of it flew on the wings 
of the wind and became a common topic of conversa- 
tion. We learned, as if by magic, when the doctor was 
called, whether he drove hard or leisurely to see his 
patient, what he thought the disease was and what 
remedies he was using to overcome it. One only had 
to be sick in order to secure the sympathy of the entire 
community. 

I remember a unique incident that arose from the 
general interest of all in those that suffered from sud- 
den attacks of illness. Squire Bean owned a mare 
that was as peculiar as her master, — and that is put- 
ting the case strongly. She was such an uncommon 
brute that she deserves a special portrayal. She was 
generally called Jim Beark's black mare ; but this was 
hardly accurate. She was, to be sure, covered with 
long, very dark hair, that was trying to be black, but 
the ends of it were a dull muddv brown. She was 
knock-kneed, and quite tall, because her crooked legs 
were unusually long. Bushy, heavy fetlocks stretched 
down to the ground behind her coarse, ponderous 
hoofs, — hoofs as far around as a breakfast plate. 
She was hollow-backed. Her ribs in spite of her thick, 
tawny hair were quite visible. Her neck, long and 
slender, suggested that she might have descended from 
some blooded sire ; if so. the descent was very great. 
Her mane, like the hair of a college boy, was parted 
in the middle, and hung in shaggy, tangled tufts on 



BUCOLIC DOCTORS 307 

both sides of her neck, while her forelock stood in a 
matted bunch on her forehead, a sort of horse pompa- 
dour. When on the move she held her nose so high 
in the air, that her face was nearly parallel with the 
heavens. Her tail started out all right from her back- 
bone, but after a descent of about six inches, it turned 
quite abruptly to the right for about three, and then 
resumed its course toward the ground. No one with 
even half an eye for the grotesque, who chanced to 
see this uncouth beast, could ever forget her. If a 
thing of beauty is a joy forever, this strange brute, 
I am sure, is an everlasting joke. 

One day, the oldest son of Squire Bean, mounted on 
this four-legged monstrosity, without a saddle, with 
only an untanned sheepskin between him and her sharp 
backbone, having for a bridle an ordinary headstall 
with blinders ; one of the blinders, its front fastening 
being broken, flapping in the wind ; her nose lifted 
towards the sky, her crooked tail lashing the air, came 
with break-neck speed down the road, the ground re- 
sounding beneath her massive hoofs. Deacon Erskine, 
thinking that the boy had been sent to call Dr. Hat- 
field, and judging from the speed of the mare that 
some one at Squire Bean's had been desperately, if not 
fatally, injured, standing behind his gate by the road- 
side, cried out, " What's the matter? " The boy, with- 
out slackening the pace of his shaggy, high-nosed 
Bucephalus, yelled at the top of his voice, " Dysentery, 



308 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

dysentery, dysentery ! " The deacon, in spite of the 
probable serious sickness of his neighbor, burst into a 
hearty laugh. Some of the family joined in his merri- 
ment. The whole neighborhood, hearing the funny 
incident, chuckled. The doctor soon put his patient 
to rights, and was greatly amused when he heard the 
deacon's story, and thought of the mad rush of the 
frightened boy to his door and his own swift drive of 
two miles to Bean's house on account of a baseless 
fright. The excited boy, bestride that queerest of all 
horses, screaming the mirth-provoking response to 
Deacon Erskine, unwittingly contributed much to the 
good humor and good health of all. 

The urbane Dr. Hatfield was a skilful physician of 
the old school. In a country neighborhood he could 
not of course be a specialist. He was called to treat 
every organ of the body from the scalp to the soles of 
the feet. According to the custom of his day, he some- 
times resorted to phlebotomy and gave generous doses 
of calomel and jalap. He extracted teeth, set broken 
bones, amputated limbs, and helped most of the chil- 
dren of the countryside into the world. 

A woman noted among us for her feeble health and 
ugliness of face went out for an afternoon drive. Her 
horse took fright and ran away. She was thrown out 
of her buggy upon a pile of stone by the roadside. A 
leg, an arm and her jaw on both sides were broken. 
Her neck was also bent so that her head leaned at an 



BUCOLIC DOCTORS 309 

angle of about forty-five degrees over her right 
shoulder. Everybody supposed that the frail creature 
would die ; but Dr. Hatfield skilfully set the shattered 
bones and, to the astonishment of all, she recovered 
and was as strong as usual, although her neck seemed 
hopelessly bent. Nevertheless the doctor, having 
studied the case thoroughly, came to the conclusion 
that if, in some way, the head should be struck a 
hard blow on the side towards which it leaned, the 
neck would be straightened. At last he himself deter- 
mined to administer the salutary blow. On a cold, 
wintry day he called upon his patient. She, regarding 
him as her greatest benefactor, was full of polite atten- 
tions, even assisting him in taking off his overcoat. 
When, however, he pulled his right arm from the 
sleeve, he swung his hand with great force and struck 
the woman on the right side of the head. With a 
shriek she fell to the floor. He raised her up, begging 
a thousand pardons for having been so careless as to 
hit her. He tenderly placed her in an arm-chair, and 
when her fright and faint were over, she was over- 
joyed to find that the crook in her neck was gone. At 
last her neck, like her leg and arm and jaw, was as 
good as ever, and the skilful, heroic doctor had one 
more claim on her everlasting gratitude. 

But on the opposite side of the neighborhood from 
Dr. Hatfield, lived Dr. Ramus. He belonged to no 
school of medicine, but announced himself an eclectic. 



310 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

This was very convenient, since whatever he might do 
would be strictly within the lines of his profession. 
In his practice he made liberal use of roots and yarbs. 
He also concocted an ointment, that he called, after 
his own name, Ramus' Grease. What its ingredients 
were, we were left to guess. Some who professed to 
know, declared that it was a compound of lard, sweet 
oil, tobacco juice and opodeldoc. Since there was no 
drug store in our neighborhood, the doctor was com- 
pelled to carry his drugs, roots and yarbs, and magical 
grease in his great leather saddle-bags. He often went 
on horseback to visit his patients, his well-worn saddle- 
bags, united like the Siamese twins, in perfect balance, 
slung across his horse behind him. It was a sort of 
peripatetic drug store. His horse was an old gray 
mare. In winter he wore a dun-colored overcoat, 
that bore the marks and stains of long service. On 
his head rested a fur, stovepipe hat, against which 
the storms of many winters had beaten, and the 
nap of which had never been smoothed by a brush. 
His boots were heavy kipskin, his pantaloons and 
vest homespun gray, with brass buttons. This 
was his ordinary rig; of course, like every one in 
the neighborhood, he had a finer suit for Sunday. 
Mounted on his logy gray nag, his great saddle-bags 
on either side sticking out from under his coat tails, 
or else rattling along in his shackling gig, he was a 
conspicuous figure among us. 



BUCOLIC DOCTORS 311 

His knowledge of medicine was far from profound. 
He had taken up the profession in order to make 
money. Not a few of his most inteUigent neighbors 
declared him to be a shallow quack. It seemed to me 
that, in some way, the first two syllables of his name, 
igno, had been lost. But it was astounding what faith 
many fairly intelligent families had in him and his 
skill. He was called to visit the sick far and near. 
With great assurance he administered medicine to 
many in distress, who, recovering in spite of it, attrib- 
uted to him the blessing of restored health. And then 
to ward ofif all future ills, he sold them a tin box of 
" Ramus' Grease" and left them filled with admiration 
of his unequaled wisdom. 

But while a quack may be able to deceive himself 
and ordinary folks in administering medicine, some 
simple surgical operation is quite sure to unmask him. 
The excellent, amiable wife of Squire Bean, in yawn- 
ing, slipped her jaw out of joint. She was of course 
in great distress. The nearest neighbors were sum- 
moned, but none of them had ever before heard of 
such a case and could render no assistance. Squire 
Bean's oldest son mounted the notorious black mare, 
and urging her to her highest speed in half or three 
quarters of an hour reached the house of Dr. Ramus, 
whom he excitedly summoned, telling with bated breath 
the desperate condition of his mother. Ramus drove 
in his gig to Squire Bean's, as fast as he could incite 



812 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

his gray mare to go. When he reached the gate, she 
was panting and covered with lather. Seizing his 
immense saddle-bags, he walked confidently into the 
house, firmly believing" that no mortal malady could 
withstand the omnipotent virtue of his enchanting 
grease. Of course he found his patient's mouth wide 
open, and since it had been in that condition for more 
than two hours, she was in exquisite agony. He, igno- 
ramus, chucked her hard under the chin to see if he 
could not shut her mouth, and she moaned with pain at 
this well-intended but brutal treatment. He then said 
that she had lockjaw, which was occasioned by the 
contraction of the cords of the neck. To relax the 
cords so that the mouth would shut, he said that it was 
only necessary to rub her neck freely with " Ramus' 
Grease " and dry it in with a red-hot iron shovel. In 
the kitchen was a large brick oven, and a long-handled 
fire shovel made of a single piece of iron, the shovel- 
blade perfectly flat, with which the brands and coals 
were removed from the heated oven, and the bread, 
beans, and pies put into it for baking and taken from 
it when done. In this oven Squire Bean quickly 
kindled a roaring fire and. thrusting the flat blade of 
the shovel into the flaming firebrands, it was soon at 
a white heat. Then Aunt Lucy, who had come to help 
her neighbor in distress, while believing the whole pro- 
ceeding to be the veriest nonsense, held the glowing 
shovel close to the neck of her suffering friend, while 



BUCOLIC DOCTORS 313 

Dr. Ramus constantly bathed the cords of the neck 
with his magical grease. It was a hot day in August. 
The mercury was above eighty in the shade. The 
poor, helpless victim dripped with perspiration. Her 
face was about as red as the red hot shovel held near 
her neck. She cried in her terrible agony ; but the 
awful torture went relentlessly on for two hours. Dr. 
Ramus all the time affirming that very soon the cords 
of the neck would become relaxed, so that this strange 
lockjaw, with the mouth wide open, would be over- 
come. 

At last Squire Bean, unable to endure the sight of his 
wife's agony any longer, sent his son post-haste for 
Dr. Hatfield, two miles away. The boy, half crazed 
with fear, lest his mother might die, rode up furiously 
to the doctor's office, leaped from his barebacked black 
mare, and in a voice stifled with emotion summoned 
the doctor to come quick to his father's house. " Who 
is sick ? " asked the doctor. " My mother," said the 
blubbering boy. " What's the matter of her ? " kindly 
inquired the doctor. " She's got the lockjaw," replied 
the boy with some impatience. " Is her mouth open 
or shut ? " asked Dr. Hatfield. The lad, exasperated, 
fairly screamed, " Open ! " " Then," replied the un- 
perturbed doctor, " she has not lockjaw. I will soon 
be at your house." 

When he arrived, with quiet dignity he entered the 
room where his patient lay, bowed courteously to Dr. 



314 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

Ramus, waved away with his hand the grease and red- 
hot shovel, put his thumbs firmly on the teeth of the 
jaw, grasping it underneath with his fingers, and 
strongly pulling it down and a little forward, it slipped 
into its sockets. To her inexpressible relief the mouth 
of the greased and long-tortured woman shut. The 
"lockjaw" was cured. Science and quackery met. 
The contrast suggests its own impressive lesson. 

Dr. Hatfield, without deigning to utter a word con- 
cerning the case, took his hat and said politely to the 
amazed company in the room and to the discomfited 
quack, " Good day," and was soon in his gig driving 
leisurely back to his home, while Dr. (Igno) Ramus 
was volubly declaring to the family that the action of 
his grease on the cords of the neck had prepared the 
way for what Dr. Hatfield had done so quickly. " Had 
it not been," he insisted, " for the effect of the grease, 
neither Dr. Hatfield nor anybody else could have shut 
her mouth." 

Strange as it may seem, Mr. Bean, clear-headed on 
many subjects, believed this silly stufif, and even bit- 
terly criticized Dr. Hatfield, who had so quickly re- 
lieved his suffering wife. The doctor, for driving two 
miles on that sweltering summer day, and setting his 
wife's jaw, charged him only two dollars ; but he de- 
clared the bill to be exorbitant and for two long years 
refused to pay it. At last, however, he did pay it, 
stopping the doctor in the road for the purpose, but to 



BUCOLIC DOCTORS 315 

the last vehemently protested that the charge was too 
high. The good doctor said nothing in defense of his 
bill, nor of the long-delayed payment of it, but, silently 
putting the two dollars in his pocket, drove on. A few 
days after, he borrowed of Squire Bean forty dollars 
for six months, giving his note at seven per cent. 
When the note matured, he made no move toward pay- 
ing it. To the great and constant exasperation of his 
creditor, he drove every day, on his professional 
rounds, past his door, in apparent obliviousness to that 
sacred forty-dollar note. At last Bean could endure it 
no longer. Seeing the doctor coming in his gig, he ran 
across the field, leaped over the fence into the road, 
and shouted, " Do you not know that that note is due? " 
The doctor drew rein, and quietly said : " Squire Bean, 
I have a problem that I wish you to solve ; if a man 
waits two years for two dollars, how long ought a man 
to wait for forty dollars? " Bean felt the just rebuke 
and acknowledged his wrong, while the doctor then 
and there paid the matured note, principal and in- 
terest. 

But if Bean believed that '' Ramus' Grease " alone 
made it possible for Dr. Hatfield to set his wife's jaw. 
Aunt Lucy, who, against her better judgment, had held 
that red-hot shovel to her neighbor's neck, did not. 
Whenever she spoke, she said plainly what she thought. 
Listening to what Ramus said, after Hatfield left, about 
the wonderful efifect that his grease had had, she was 



316 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

too indignant longer to keep silence. She said to the 
family, " I don't believe a word of his explanation; it's 
all fudge." This enraged Bean and he determined to 
feed fat his grudge against her. She remained awhile 
longer to do what she could for the comfort of Mrs. 
Bean, but when her weary and exhausted neighbor and 
friend fell into a profound sleep, Aunt Lucy donned 
her sunbonnet and started for her house. She had not 
gone over thirty rods, when she heard behind her the 
sharp crack of a rifle, and a bullet went singing by her 
ears. Looking around, she saw Squire Bean with his 
smoking gun. She hastened her pace, lest he might 
shoot again, and was soon relating to her own family 
this strange story. Honest John, full of righteous 
wrath, rose to avenge the outrage against her, who was 
the apple of his eye. But he always wanted to look any 
foe of his in the face ; so he went straight to Bean. 
When thus confronted, if Bean ever had any courage it 
oozed out of him. He confessed that he shot towards 
Mrs. Erskine, but declared that he had no intention of 
hitting her ; he only wanted to scare her. The deacon, 
half believing that he told the truth, concluded to let 
the matter drop, but shamed the waspish Bean by ask- 
ing him, if he thought that that was a proper way to 
treat any woman, and especially one who, out of love 
to his wife, had toiled all day for her life and comfort. 
Such was Jim Bean. He shot because his cussedness 
was up. 



BUCOLIC DOCTORS 317 

" When he was good he was very, very good, 
And when he was bad, he was horrid." 

In the following winter, Bean was drawing home 
on his lumbering sleigh, from a neighboring swamp, a 
load of cedar rails. Going down a hill, the rails slipped 
forward till they touched his horses. The frightened 
team ran a short distance and overturned the sleigh. 
His son, who was with him on the load, had his back 
bruised. He was brought home and gently laid in bed. 
Dr. Ramus, who in his comprehensive ignorance had 
cruelly tortured Bean's wife only a very few months 
before, was called. He diagnosed the case, and said 
that the boy's spine was broken. Some of the neigh- 
bors, who were present, doubted it. So he sat his 
patient, who was thin and spare in flesh, up in the bed 
and had him bend over forward. The outer processes 
of the spine, when it was curved, were naturally a little 
thrown apart. Laying his finger between two of the 
processes, he said : " There, you can see for yourselves 
that the spine is broken and partially separated." But 
the patient was not paralyzed, nor did he feel any 
special inconvenience from having his broken spine 
bent like a bow. 

In a short time the lad recovered, but as he never 
liked to work, that broken spine, which had so lately 
knit together, was a sufficient excuse for his discarding 
all labor on the farm ; it was quite impossible for him 
to work even in the garden, or to do the li^ii^htest chores. 



318 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

He was therefore put into a dry-goods store in a neigh- 
boring village, where for years he sold calico, ribbons, 
lace, thread, needles and pins without doing any dam- 
age to his shattered backbone. I am afraid that he 
never fully realized the vast debt of gratitude that he 
owed to Dr. Ramus, whose magic grease drew, and 
knit, together his disparted vertebrae, so that while 
sufficient weakness remained to preclude working on 
the farm, he still had sufficient strength to be a clerk 
in a store. 




CHAPTER XVIII 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 



I SPEAK not of love as it is depicted, a thousand times 
over, in popular novels, but of the genuine, artless, 
childhood attachment of Robert Butterworth and Julia 
Tripp. They were born in our neighborhood and there 
grew up to maturity. While their homes were not very 
near each other, they often met at school and church. 
They were generous, happy children, and favorites 
with their playmates, but, ever and anon, by some mys- 
terious influence, they drifted aside from the rest and, 
to their mutual delight, found themselves alone. Of 
course they were not yet self-conscious ; they were too 
young to analyze their feelings ; they simply loved to 

319 



320 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

be together, to talk about their things and plays, to run 
and romp with each other. When not attending to 
their lessons at school, or to the preacher in church, 
they were exquisitely happy in looking, and winking, 
at each other. Without any well-defined purpose, they 
were carrying on a flirtation, when the pedagogue, 
busy with his absorbing duties, did not see them, or 
the parson was thundering forth his most solemn 
appeals. 

When in spring they roamed hand in hand over the 
fields or through the budding, leafing woods, plucking 
wild flowers, adorning their brows with apple or dog- 
wood blossoms, gleefully listening to the sweet songs 
of the birds ; or, when in autumn, they eagerly picked 
the mellow, fragrant fruit of the orchard or gazed with 
rapture on the crimsoned maples and oaks, they were 
full of unwonted joy, but did not yet ask themselves 
why everything seemed so much more beautiful when 
they were together, than when each alone looked upon 
the same scenes. 

Thus happy in each other, their childhood at last 
blossomed into youth. Then came the thought of 
mating, they knew not why nor how^ They began to 
be introspective. They fell to analyzing, as well as 
they could, their emotions. With this self-examination, 
their jubilant, childish joy, in large measure, faded 
away. The flower is beautiful, biit if in your efTort to 
understand it, you pull it to pieces, you destroy its 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 321 

loveliness and charm. So now the happiness that for 
years had ravished their souls was diminished almost 
to the vanishing point when they seriously tried to 
find the root of it. 

At last, Bob, as everybody called him, found that he 
was in love with Jule, her name for short among her 
familiar friends ; but even the thought of telling her 
of it filled him with embarrassment. For years, with 
unrestrained freedom, he had told her everything in 
his mind and heart, and she with equal liberty had 
declared herself to him. But now he felt strangely 
restrained, shut in and shut up, when in her presence. 
She, too, in a measure had grown bashful and retir- 
ing. When in church they glanced at each other, their 
cheeks flushed. This was an unusual experience. At 
last Bob determined to tell Jule that he loved her. He 
put on his best clothes, shined his calfskin boots, 
donned a " Sunday-go-to-meeting " linen collar and 
colored cravat, used comb and brush till every hair on 
his head lay in the right place and pointed in the right 
direction, and eyed himself again and again in the 
glass to make sure that every article of his dress looked 
spick and span. During the past few years he had 
visited Julia scores of times .with never a thought of 
what he had on. But to love without knowing it is one 
thing ; to be clearly conscious of it is quite another. So 
Bob, now quite fully realizing his burning passion for 
Jule and spruced up in his best, walked on toward her 



322 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

house with a growing consciousness of the great re- 
sponsibiHty that he was about to assume. She received 
him with her wonted gladness, but wondered why on 
a week-day he was so scrupulously clad. She also soon 
felt the evident restraint under which he was laboring. 
Nevertheless, they talked on for an hour or two about 
things which once interested him, but now had lost 
for him all their former fascination. He found that 
he could say what he did not care to say, but the thing 
that he had come to declare lay deep down in his inner 
consciousness, and he could not coax nor force it from 
its hiding place. He felt that he adored Julia as never 
before, but he had not sufficient power of will to con- 
fess it to her. Beaten and chagrined, he bade her a 
hasty good-day ; but on reaching the gate that opened 
into the road, turned and looked at her, as she stood 
half puzzled on the veranda, and threw her a parting 
kiss, she all the time wondering at Robert's unusual 
bearing and conduct. As he went back to his home, 
he fairly cursed himself for having been so chicken- 
hearted. 

Some days passed by when, cherishing in his heart 
his former purpose, he visited her again. In the time 
that had elapsed, he had gathered strength and courage. 
But to him it was an unfathomable mystery that it 
should require any courage to tell the girl with whom 
he had played all his life that he loved her. He now 
realized that he was confronted by a condition, not by 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 323 

a theory. Once more they were together ; once more 
their tongues were busy with. what, under the circum- 
stances, he did not care a fig for. Again and again he 
was about to tell the tale of his heart, but mysteriously 
failed. At last the conversation slackened ; there came 
awkward moments of silence ; she looked inquiringly 
into his face ; he blushed ; the skin seemed to draw as 
tight as a drumhead across the bridge of his nose ; 
his eyes felt as big as two tea-saucers, when he finally 
broke the oppressive silence by saying: "Julia, for 
several weeks I have been trying to tell you that I love 
you and want you to be my wife. Why it has been 
so hard to say what I wished to say most I can't tell; 
but I'm glad at last to be able to do it." 

Julia was surprised, not at what he told her of his 
love, but because it had been so difficult for him to do 
it. She received his declaration quite as a matter of 
course, and said, " I've always thought you loved me, 
as, for years, I've loved you ; but, Robert, as to becom- 
ing your wife, I must have time to think of that ; what 
you ask quite takes my breath away." Since it was not 
a question to be discussed, but silently to be thought 
out, it was for the nonce dropped by them both. Other 
things claimed their attention and monopolized their 
conversation ; still, while they chatted, the subject 
which by mutual, tacit consent had been tabooed was 
after all uppermost in their thoughts : while both talked 
of something else, they were all the time thinking of 



324 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

that. And as they conversed, they felt for each other 
a strength of affection and a glow of love such as they 
never before had experienced. Their souls seemed to 
touch, blend, and become one. 

In this new experience they were inexpressibly 
happy, but it was an ecstasy felt, not spoken; neither 
attempted to tell it ; no words at their command could 
adequately express it. W^ith mind and heart flooded 
with this new joy, they kissed and parted; he anxious 
as to Julia's final decision, she to think for a few days 
concerning the question. Shall I become Robert's 
wife? Its answer involved the earthly destiny of them 
both. But deep down in her heart and his, the ques- 
tion had already been answered. On the declaration 
of his love, had not their souls met and run together 
like two drops of water? Was not the resulting ex- 
perience one of quiet, profoundest joy? Robert anx- 
iously longing for her reply, soon appeared again, 
when, instinctively knowing his chief, absorbing 
thought, she hastened to meet him, and placing her 
hand confidingly in his, the first word that fell from 
her lips was, " yes." And now the happiness of both 
was rounded and complete. For them both, a new, 
broader and happier life had begun. 

But our most exquisite joys are often marred; on 
sunniest days shadows may suddenly darken the sky. 
Did the course of true love ever run perfectly smooth? 
Julia at times became depressed and melancholy, and 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 325 

this arose from the depth and intensity of her love for 
Robert. He was a handsome, captivating fellow, a 
little above medium height, straight as an arrow, 
square-shouldered, robust, with luxuriant black hair, 
worn pompadour, dark hazel eyes and a fair, white 
skin. While usually quiet in manner, he was full of 
good-nature and fun, and a favorite among the girls 
of the neighborhood. When, at public gatherings, they 
at times largely secured his attentions, the spirits of 
Julia were dampened. For the hour she became moody 
and silent. Without knowing it, she was fitfully 
jealous, and of course temporarily unhappy. She had 
no solid reason for doubting the faithfulness of Robert, 
but he now filled her whole horizon, and the remotest 
imaginary danger that some one else might win him 
from her, filled her with fear, and for the hour des- 
troyed her happiness. Robert, apprehending and gen- 
erously appreciating her feelings, loved her all the 
more for her temporary fits of jealousy. A few as- 
suring words from his warm, true heart would quickly 
drive away the shadows, and again they walked bliss- 
fully together in the sunshine of unsullied love. 

Serious courting usually precedes the mutual decla- 
ration of love ; but in this case the order of events was 
reversed. Their love springing up in childhood, in 
their artlessness they did not suspect what it was that 
so often drew them together and filled them with in- 
expressible happiness. As men drirk the sweet, cold 



326 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

water that flows from some hidden spring, simply con- 
tent to quench their thirst, without a thought of the 
source from which the satisfying draft comes, so for 
years they tasted the sweets of love in utter uncon- 
sciousness even of its existence. But at last, when 
they mutually discovered and declared it, while the 
consciousness of it gave them a deeper, richer joy than 
they had ever before felt, it also revealed in a measure 
the more serious aspect of life. Conscious love brought 
with it a keen sense of impending responsibility. To- 
gether, at no distant day, they were to take up and bear 
the burdens of a household. Play-days were nearly 
over; toil and conflict were about to begin. Standing 
on the threshold of active life, they instinctively felt 
that the situation demanded careful, patient considera- 
tion. 

By force of public opinion, courtship in our neigh- 
borhood was always carried on with propriety and 
decorum. Lovers generally met in the evening, within 
doors. The parlor of the father or guardian of the 
damsel, sought in marriage, was lighted up. The 
young man, seeking her hand, first called upon the 
family, and after a brief visit, which, in his impatience, 
often seemed long, by common consent all, save the 
lovers, withdrew and left them to themselves. Their 
tryst usually continued till ten o'clock or later. Two 
or three nights of each week were often given to this 
delightful, yet serious business. When Robert and 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 327 

Julia had declared their mutual love their courtship 
really began. Of course the whole neighborhood soon 
knew it. Some said, " Bob and Jule are sparkin' ; " 
others, that they were " settin' up nights," and many 
wondered if their parents approved of it. Such curi- 
osity and gossip disturbed no one ; it was customary 
and expected. 

But at last by a strange happening one of Robert's 
" sparkin' " nights became notorious. It was Sunday 
evening. He had stayed with his sweetheart till near 
midnight. As his house was full a mile distant from 
hers, he had come, as he occasionally did, on horse- 
back. It was a moonless, cloudy night, as dark as dark 
could be ; but familiar with every foot of the road, he 
felt no fear; he could safely ride on his trusty nag 
back to his father's house without even a glimmer of 
light. He bravely started homeward, but his horse, at 
times uncertain of the path, stopped and suspiciously 
snorted. In the rayless night he, half unconsciously, 
began to whistle, apparently to keep his courage up. 
He had to cross a creek, which was in itself no narrow 
stream. Its banks, where the bridge was thrown across 
it, were marshy. Athwart the oozy ground, a roadbed 
of earth, on either side of the creek, had been made to 
the abutments of the bridge, a strong wooden structure, 
with side-railings. When Robert reached this bridge, 
he could see nothing, but confidently relied on his faith- 
ful steed to carry him safely over. But when about 



328 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

two thirds the way across, his frightened horse refused 
to go further, blew a blast from his nostrils, and tried 
to turn around and go back. Robert succeeded in stop- 
ping the trembling beast and dismounted. Then he 
saw, as well as he could judge, just beyond the further 
end of the bridge, on the side of the roadbed leading up 
to it, two great fiery eyes. Whichever way he turned 
those burning orbs were upon him. They had at first 
alarmed his horse, so that the poor beast was all 
aquiver, and now they filled him with consternation. 
Cold sweat started on his forehead ; cold chills chased 
each other in swift succession down his spine ; there 
was a sense of goneness at the pit of his stomach ; the 
small of his back seemed to be giving way, and his 
knees shook. At first blush, he thought that he would 
go back to Mr. Tripp's, knock at Julia's window, and 
ask the privilege of sleeping on the lounge in the 
sitting room till daylight : but then it occurred to 
him that the whole neighborhood might learn the story 
of his fright and make him the butt of its ridicule. 
He quickly concluded that he could never endure that ; 
the bare thought of it put new determination and cour- 
age into him. He tied his trembling horse to the rail- 
ing of the bridge. He resolutely faced those flashing 
eyes. His only weapon was a heavy rawhide. Grasp- 
ing it firmly in his strong right hand, he stealthily 
crept a few feet toward the mute monster crouching 
by the roadside. He stopped and for a moment gazed 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 329 

toward his waiting foe. He worked up resolution to 
yell at it, but the only response to his cry was the 
dismal echo of his voice in a near-by swamp. The 
horrid creature, only a few feet in front of him, neither 
stirred nor gave forth the slightest sound ; still, its 
awful, flaming eyes, never for a moment turned away 
from him, flashed their fire into the very marrow of 
his bones. The absolute stillness of this " gorgon 
dire " enhanced the shivering terror. If it had 
growled or moved its head or switched its tail, that 
would have afforded some relief; but just to stare at 
one with great, shining eyes, each of which glowed 
like a furnace, and remained as motionless and still as 
a stone, was enough to frighten an archangel. Robert 
could hear his heart-throbs ; his breathing became 
rapid and audible, but his courage did not utterlv 
fail. Lifting his rawhide high above his head, he now 
went with rapid pace straight up to the silent monster 
and struck it with all his might right between the 
eyes. He was amazed to see one eye fall to the right, 
the other to the left. 

Whatever had laid wait to devour him, he was now 
certain that he had split its head open with no more 
formidable a, weapon than his riding whip ; yet in the 
dense darkness, he cautiously stretched out his hand 
to feel his demolished foe. thinking that perchance 
he might thrust his fingers into hot, running blood, 
or oozing brains : but instead he grasped a stick cov- 



330 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ered with velvety fuzz, it was a large mullein-stalk. 
About three feet from the ground, it was forked. On 
either branch of the fork was foxfire. These two 
touches of phosphorus made the glowing eyes that had 
nearly frightened out of their wits both horse and 
rider. When, with his big rawhide, Robert struck the 
awful beast between the eyes, he split the mullein- 
stalk from crotch to root. When the fact was fully 
revealed, horror gave place to mirth. He laughed 
aloud and the neighboring cypress-swamp caught up 
his jollity and laughed too. He remounted his nag 
and rode on to his home, glad, at every step, that he 
had not in his fright returned to Mr. Tripp's. 

His courtship days all too soon came to an end. 
Again and again he and Julia had talked over the 
future, with all its varied possibilities. The Butter- 
worths and Tripps were greatly pleased with the 
match, although Mr. Butterworth thought Robert too 
young to become at once the head of a household, 
and earnestly advised him first to take a college course 
and after that, when he knew more and had reached 
mature manhood, to w^ed. If this sound advice had 
been followed, Robert's life would doubtless have been 
broader and richer. He was above the average in 
native ability, and a thorough college drill would have 
enabled him to adorn any profession that he might 
have chosen. But fervid love is not only blind but 
deaf and cannot hear the voice of reason. Julia filled 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 331 

Robert's entire field of vision. He seemed quite in- 
capable of seeing aught else. College studies, acquired 
ability for greater usefulness, and higher honors had 
no charm for him. He must have Julia and have her 
without further delay. So Mr. Butterworth laid aside 
his long-cherished ambition for his son, and reluc- 
tantly consented to his early marriage. 

Three or four months thereafter, the wedding day 
was set. The whole countryside was on the tiptoe of 
expectation. The marriage was to take place in the 
evening at the home of the bride. All relatives of the 
Tripps and Butterworths, near and remote, were in- 
vited to witness the nuptials and also many of their 
more intimate acquaintances among the neighbors. 
The guests filled the spacious farm-house. The long 
parlor, where the knot was to be tied, was crowded. 
Elder Josiah Martin was there ready for duty. The 
bride and groom, neatly and tastefully dressed, soon 
appeared. All necks were craned to see them. 
" What a handsome couple ! " was whispered here and 
there. The marriage ceremony was simple and brief. 
The prayer of the Elder was short and fervent. Then 
the youthful couple were warmly congratulated. 

When these informal and hearty ceremonies were 
over, all were invited to partake of the wedding feast 
in the large dining-room. The tables groaned under 
their appetizing burden. But the banquet had only 
Just begun, when, outdoors, on all sides of the house. 



332 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

there suddenly burst forth a bewildering discord of 
nerve-racking sounds ; scores of tin horns were 
tooted ; tin pails and tin pans were pounded ; snare- 
drums rolled and snapped ; bass drums boomed ; cas- 
tanets or pieces of dry bones went whackety-whack, 
whackety-whack ; corn-fiddles screeched and muskets 
and shot-guns added their bang, bang. 

It was a horrid din. The nervous and timid were 
thoroughly alarmed, and their fright, for a time, was 
greatly enhanced by an ignorant blunder of a country 
bumpkin. He evidently thought that if his musket 
were loaded with only powder and wad he might hold 
its muzzle to a window and fire without doing any 
damage. The simpleton tried it on the upper sash 
of one of the parlor windows and. to his amazement 
and the consternation of the wedding guests, blew the 
window panes, sash and all, half the length of the 
long room. Just in front of that window, in the track 
of that splintered and flying glass, a few minutes be- 
fore, Robert and Julia had stood, as they joined hands 
in marriage and received the congratulations of their 
friends; but no one was injured since all were now at 
the tables of the wedding supper. Still, the sharp 
report of the gun and the sudden shivering of glass 
made the timid shriek and turn jialc, and, for a few 
moments, threw the nuptial feasters into a panic. 

Two of Julia's brothers went out to remonstrate 
with the bovs and found them in rare good humor: 



LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 333 

they were only having a Httle fun; just giving Bob 
and Jule a smart send-off ; and they asked for a taste 
of the wedding feast, and the young men took out to 
them roast chicken, cake, cheese, and coffee. They 
received the viands with a loud hurrah; then both 
those within and without feasted, for a time, in peace ; 
but those without, quite unwilling that any one should 
think them cowed and afraid, when their exacted feast 
was over, once more filled the air with their diabolical 
noises, till we seemed to be in Bedlam. The dis- 
cordant, ear-splitting din ended in a cheer, three times 
three. Then we heard footsteps and voices growing 
more and more indistinct till, at last, there was wel- 
come silence. The horse-play of these clodhoppers 
had come to an end. 

I saw John Erskine at the wedding in his calfskin 
boots and black broadcloth coat, with Aunt Lucy in 
her black silk dress. Honest John was full of indig- 
nation against the noisy crowd outside. He said, " I 
never heard such an infernal racket ; it's an outrage." 
But Aunt Lucy replied. " It is hardly decent, but I 
don't think the boys really mean to do any mischief." 
This was like her; she was always half apologizing 
for even the rudest fun. 

The present generation calls such a nocturnal ca- 
rousal around a house where a wedding is being cele- 
brated a charivari; but in niy country neighborhood 
no one even knew the jaw-breaking word. Since 



334 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

horns were predominant in the sham serenade it was 
simply called among us a " horning-bee." It was, to 
be sure, a low-lived custom, which still lingers in some 
back towns of New England and the Middle States. 

During the progress of the supper, which was sud- 
denly so rudely disturbed, Robert and Julia slipped 
away in the darkness, unnoticed by the noisy louts in 
the yard, to enjoy a short wedding trip. Thus ends 
this brief story of true young love and marriage. 
Still, in justice I must add that Robert made good in 
life. He was a thrifty farmer, a brave and efficient 
soldier, and a sane force in the politics of his adopted 
State ; and Julia, a constant inspiration, stood bravely 
at his side. 




CHAPTER XIX 



SUNSET 



Not of the neighborhood ; which, though its cus- 
toms and the character of its inhabitants have radically 
changed, is still there ; but the old residents are all in 
their graves. Here and there is found a descendant 
of some family of the past generation, but even these 
blood representatives of bygone days are now well 
stricken in years. The old American stock has been 
largely replaced by Irish and German, but the same 
fertile farms are still yielding abundant harvests. 

But I wish to portray, as well as I can, in a few 
words, the sunset days of the two lives that have run 
like a golden thread through all my homely story. To 

335 



330 W HEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHliORS 

John Erskine and Aunt Lucy the old neighborhood had 
been made sacred by a thousand tender associations. 
To it they had made their bridal tour in an ox-cart. 
There they had cleared away the forest and tilled the 
soil, built houses and barns, planted orchards and cul- 
tivated gardens of vegetables and flowers; there their 
children had been born and educated and had gone out 
from under their roof into the wide world, and there 
both of them had been born again. For nearly forty 
years honest John had adorned the office of deacon in 
the Baptist church. But their birdlings had all flown 
from the nest, mated and gone. Why should they 
remain alone in their spacious farmhouse, which for 
years had been filled with the ha])p\' voices of their 
children, but now was silent? There was one spot 
even more sacred to them than the 0I4 neighborhood, 
where they had so long lived and wrought, more 
sacred than the farm and house where they had spent 
so many happy days and eventful years, and that spot 
was where in early life they met and loved and wedded. 
It was then a small, straggling, pioneer settlement, but, 
in the lapse of time, it had become a well-built and 
beautiful village. Its attractive houses, embowered in 
maples and elms, were fit exponents of its increasing 
wealth. A seminary tor young ladies, with its flour- 
ishing schools of art and music, had made the village 
a center of culture and refinement. 

To the astonishment of his neighbors. John Erskine 



SUNSET 337 

offered his well-cultivated farm for sale. A thrifty 
friend at once bought it, and honest John purchased 
for himself a plain, but comfortable house, with two 
acres of ground, in the village of his betrothal. When 
it was made ready for occupancy, he rode from his 
country neighborhood back to the place of his court- 
ship, not as he had driven many years before over the 
same road with his young bride in a cart, drawn by 
oxen, but in a neatly-finished buggy, drawn by a 
spirited horse with a silver-trimmed harness. The 
same road and the contrast between the vehicles in 
which they went and returned brought to their minds 
and hearts a flood of tender memories. Their honey- 
moon during all the long years had never waned. 
They were ardent lovers when so long ago they took 
their wedding journey, but they loved each other now 
more deeply and tenderly than they did then. As 
they drove on, every tree and flower, the song of 
every bird, and every fruitful field seemed freighted 
with joy. Their hearts overflowed with gratitude to 
God, who had so richly blessed them with worldly 
goods and with children, and had given to them such 
perfect happiness in each other. When they reached 
their new home, they were specially glad in the 
thought of being once more in the place where the}- 
had first felt the stirring and bliss of young love. 

Here, in a small way, John was still a farmer. He 
could not put aside the deep-rooted habits of a life- 



338 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

time. He had his barn and cow that he personally 
cared for. He cultivated his garden and fruits, while 
Aunt Lucy delighted in her flourishing flowers. She 
had marked success in raising pinks and peonies, 
asters, roses and dahlias. The soil was good, and a 
plentiful supply of wash-water poured each week upon 
the roots of the plants assured a great harvest of 
blossoms. 

They at once united with the church. Every Sun- 
day they were in their pew. They joined the Bible 
class, attended the weekly prayer-meeting, and helped 
on, to the extent of their ability, every good work. 
At the midweek gathering for prayer and conference, 
honest John, dropping on his knees, would offer to 
God a short, earnest petition. So sincere was he that 
all loved to hear his supplication. His pastor told me 
that on one occasion he prayed, '' O Lord, forgive us 
our shortcomings," and then was silent for a full 
minute, when he added, " O Lord, forgive us for our 
no-comings-at-all." This, in his mind, seemed to clear 
the ground thoroughly, so that he went on without 
further halt to the end of his petition. 

They also heartily seconded every move made for 
the material or moral improvement of the village. 
At one time the question of licensing liquor saloons 
was agitated and was to be decided at the polls. A 
beautiful river ran through the village, about equally 
dividing its inhabitants. Immediately before the elec- 



SUNSET 339 

tion, Aunt Lucy, when more than seventy years old, 
visited on foot, and conversed personally with, every 
voter on her side of the river. She was a sane, 
persuasive talker, and those who cast the ballots 
voted out the demoralizing saloon by a large majority. 
This shows what a voteless woman can do in pol- 
itics. 

But Aunt Lucy specially gloried in church work, 
and such was her consummate tact, that she could 
approach and converse with any one about his or her 
religious life without giving the least offense. She 
was welcomed by not a few as a wise and safe spirit- 
ual guide. No difficulties daunted her. Her quick, 
practical solution of knotty problems was sometimes 
amazing. On her street lived two married women, 
who wished to unite with the church, but their hus- 
bands were bitterly, even violently, opposed to it. One 
of these men, a German, lived directly across the 
street from John Erskine's. His wife stepped out a 
few minutes one evening to call on a friend, and on 
her return found the lights in her house extinguished 
and the doors and windows shut and bolted. She 
knocked and called unheeded and was ruthlessly kept 
outdoors all night. In the morning, Aunt Lucy, 
having learned of the outrage, called on her neighbor 
and said to him, " ]\Ir. Lehmann, I hear that you 
locked Gretchen out all night." " Yesh, Mishes Er- 
shkins," he replied, "I did." "Well," she asked. 



340 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

'■ don't you feci asliamed of it ? " " \\'\\, Misht'S 
Ershkins," lie answered, " lo tells zhe truth, I do feel a 
leetle 'shamed." She said, " I am glad that you are a 
little ashamed, but wish that }ou were very much 
ashamed." " \'ell, Mishes Ershkins," he responded, 
"jusht to tells zhe truth, I never vas so 'shamed in 
all my life." " Good," said she, but, keeping the main 
point in view, at once asked, " What are you going 
to do now about Gretchcn's joining the church? " He 
replied, "I vill do nottins 'bout it; she do jusht vat 
she please, I never say anutter vort." Aunt Luc\' 
had won, and had the joy of knowing that ever after 
there was peace in that house. 

'1 he other petty persecutor of his wife lived up the 
street about two blocks from the Erskines. He w^as of 
Yankee stock, and so stoutly opposed to his wife's 
wish that he declared his pur])ose to kill himself if 
she should unite with the church. Aunt Lucy called 
to see if she could not pour oil on the troubled watep»r 
and found him standing in his kitchen, sharpening the 
blade of a pocket-knife on a whetstone. She kindly 
and courteously spoke to him about the rumor of his in- 
tended suicide. " Yes," he said, " if Martha joins the 
church I'll make way with myself." She looked him 
straight in the eye and said quietly but firmly, " No, 
you won't." With fury in his tone, he cried out, 
" Why not ? " " Because," she rejilied w'ith perfect 
coolness, " when men commit suicide thev do not an- 



SUNSET 341 

nounce their intention to their neighbors." He made 
no reply ; he could not, but began to whet his knife 
with redoubled energy. Seeing now that her game 
was within her grasp, she began to play with it, as a 
cat does with a mouse. Back of his house was a tool- 
shop. So she teasingly said to him, " I hope you're 
not going to kill yourself with that little knife you're 
whetting." He snapped out, " Perhaps I shall." She 
continued with exasperating coolness, " Oh, don't try 
that, but go out to the shop and take the broadax and 
make sure work of it." He jumped and yelled with 
rage, threw down knife and whetstone, and bolted 
from the house as if shot from a gun. 

He did not harm himself. He never had had the 
slightest intention of so doing. He had merely put up 
a shallow bluff to frighten his timid wife. But he had 
now talked with a wise woman, who had tauntingly 
pulled off his mask. The calmness and ease with 
which she had done it enraged him, but at the same 
time it shamed him out of his brutal folly. He was, 
however, too stubborn to confess this with his lips, 
but thereafter neither by word nor act did he op- 
pose his wife in making a public profession of her 
faith. 

But either from resentment or humiliation, he would 
in no way recognize Aunt Lucy. For a time she ig- 
nored this, but said at last, " I think I can bring him 
to." It was spring and he was busy making his garden 



342 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

that bordered on the street. One day as she was pass- 
ing by, she stopped to observe what he was doing, 
and, without any salutation, said: "How fine your 
garden is ! I've often seen it and wondered where you 
learned to make garden so nicely." He was at once 
all smiles, and giving her a sketch of his career, told 
her where he learned the art of gardening. Still ex- 
pressing her admiration of his good work, she walked 
on. She had captured him. A few days after she 
said : " Rogers," for that was his surname, " is the 
politest man that I meet ; he's the only one that takes 
off his hat when he bows to me." 

Honest John and Aunt Lucy, in doing good to their 
neighbors and in their increasing love for each other, 
found their cup of happiness brimful. To be sure they 
missed their children, for each of whom they daily 
prayed. They were hungry for letters from them and 
when the coveted missives came, they read them over 
again and again. But they found partial compensation 
for the absence of their loved ones in the thoughtful, 
hearty attentions of many in the village by whom they 
were highly esteemed. Moreover, now and then, life- 
long friends from their old country neighborhood came 
to spend a few hours under their hospitable roof and to 
renew past fellowships by eating at their table. At 
such times they lived over again their pioneer days 
and fought over once more their old battles, and some- 
times with heart and soul they sang together: 



SUNSET 343 

" Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to mind? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? " 

Among such visitors came one day Squire Bean. 
He was mellowing with age. For hours he and 
Erskine talked over their experiences as neighbors in 
past years, without making the most distant allusion 
to what had once marred their relations with each 
other. It was the Squire's way of making the amende 
honorable. By that friendly visit he said in act, " Let 
all the wrong done by me in the past be forgiven and 
forgotten." So honest John understood it and rejoiced 
over it. With mutual good wishes they parted. A 
few weeks thereafter the Squire died. His old neigh- 
bors, remembering the good in his life and forgetting 
the bad, tenderly buried him. They chiseled his vir- 
tues in granite, but wrote his faults in sand. 

A few years after Erskine and his bride — she was 
always his bride — began their village life, they cele- 
brated their golden wedding. Between thirty and 
forty of their children, grandchildren and near rela- 
tives assembled under their roof, each bringing some 
golden gift. Nearly forty sat down to the wedding 
supper not far from the spot where a half-century 
before John Erskine and his young bride joyfully 
entered into the bonds of wedlock. It was sunrise 
then, now sunset was not far away. During all the 



344 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

intervening years few clouds had darkened their sky. 
Their eight children were all alive, with households of 
their own. Those able to be present recounted past 
experiences. One of them framed his in doggerel 
verse, to the great amusement of the happy, laughing 
group. 

The festivities that began in the morning continued 
till late at night. While bride and bridegroom entered 
into them with heart and soul, honest John seemed at 
times half dazed. He could not get it into his head 
that his children and relatives esteemed him so highly. 
He had never thought much of himself and was now 
amazed at the attentions shown him and the eulogies 
poured out upon him. He felt certain that his bride 
more than merited all the praise that was bestowed, 
but evidently thought himself quite unworthy of it. 
He seemed to think that his children had either made 
an egregious blunder or else were poking fun at him. 
Still, while heavily discounting all encomiums of him- 
self, to be surrounded by so many of his children and 
children's children gave him the deepest satisfaction, 
and their heart-felt, tender attentions ever after lin- 
gered like sunshine in his soul. 

But as the sun was going down, a cloud now and 
then stretched itself along the radiant horizon. Honest 
John lost, through an ill-starred enterprise, most of his 
hard-earned cash. It was no scheme of his own ; he 
too generously loaned his money to help others. He 



SUNSET 345 

gathered in a few fragments from the wreck, barely 
enough, with the strictest economy, to help him on to 
the end of his earthly journey. While this was a sore 
trial, he bore it with his accustomed silence. He did 
not live for the things of this world ; he had " gold 
refined by fire " laid up in heaven. So in spite of his 
financial loss, he still was happy. 

But a blacker cloud threw its shadow upon him. 
More than twenty years before, while watering some 
of his cattle at a well in one of his pastures, he was 
smitten down by an apoplectic stroke. He lay for a 
time insensible in the field. When he revived, he made 
his way, with staggering steps, to his farmhouse. He 
did not know what had befallen him. Accounting for 
his feeble, uncertain movements, he said that some one 
hit him with a club on the back of his head. In a few 
days he seemed quite well again, except that his mem- 
ory was somewhat impaired. He now resumed his 
farmwork with his usual energy and push. But the 
insidious disease lurked in his muscular, sinewy body. 
It stealthily crept on its way, silently fastening its 
relentless grip on the whole nervous system. Honest 
John, by imperceptible stages, grew more and more 
forgetful. With sadness his most intimate friends 
noted the evidences of his bodily and mental decay. 
For a long time he was happily ignorant of his real 
condition. But at last he detected it. He discovered 
that within three hours he had told the same story 



346 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

twice over. This revelation nearly crushed his spirit. 
Strange as it may seem, this strong man firmly re- 
solved that he would never speak again, except to con- 
duct fartiily worship. For three days he unswervingly 
carried out his purpose. Aunt Lucy was deeply grieved 
and greatly alarmed. She appealed for sympathy and 
help to a son-in-law in whom Mr. Erskine had great 
confidence. This son-in-law, coming to her aid, hap- 
pily found his voluntarily-dumb father-in-law working 
alone in the orchard and began to talk to him. His 
words were efifective. Honest John broke his silence 
by saying, " Three days ago I found myself telling the 
same story twice within a very short time and I deter- 
mined, since I had become such a fool, that I would 
never talk to anybody again, but I see now how un- 
wise I've been." 

At times, just for a little while, he failed to recognize 
even his own children. Late one evening one of his 
sons came from his distant home to see him, but he did 
not know him. When at last it dawned upon him that 
the man who stood before him was really his son, he 
rose from his chair and in a courtly manner said : " My 
son, I beg your pardon ; I never knew much, and what 
little T did know I seem to have forgotten ; T wdsh you 
good night." And. as though ashamed, he at once 
betook himself to his chamber and bed. 

Conscious now of his growing infirmity, he \vas in 
mortal dread lest some day he might forget to conduct 



SUNSET 347 

family prayer. So he asked Aunt Lucy to enter into 
a covenant with him to have family worship the first 
thing after dressing in the morning, in order to make 
sure that this important duty and privilege should 
never be neglected. Rising usually at four o'clock in 
summer and at five in winter, they read the Bible and 
worshipped at the gray dawn. Whatever honest John 
might forget, he never once forgot to bow at the 
family altar. A rare man was he ! 

But he was quite unconscious of the full extent of 
his malady. What his friends clearly saw, he but dimly 
realized. At times as bright in intellect as in his best 
days, he not unnaturally concluded that he was fairly 
holding his own. But in fact, his nervous power was 
steadily declining. His sleep was light and fitful. He 
dreamed much, and his dreams to him were very real. 
While he slept his mind was specially active on re- 
ligious subjects. One night, in a clear voice, he quoted 
Scripture, one passage after another, and when some 
verse specially pleased him, he clapped his hands, as 
men cheer the sentiment expressed by some public 
speaker. Aunt Lucy, a little anxious over his un- 
wonted enthusiasm, woke him up. She told him of 
his unusual conduct and said to him, " I thought you 
were becoming a shouting Methodist." To which he 
replied : " Well, a man must express his feelings in 
some way." 

Two or three nights afterwards he was again quo- 



348 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ting Scripture in his sleep with even greater enthusiasm 
than before. When Aunt Lucy gently aroused him, 
he asked, "Where am I?" She told him where he 
was, and when at last fully conscious of his surround- 
ings he said : " I thought that I was in the New Jeru- 
salem, and if I were only there, I should never want 
anything more." The next day, when attempting to 
rise from his armchair, he fell heavily on the floor. 
His limbs no longer obeyed his will. Loving hands 
helped him to his bed, and within forty-eight hours 
he was " there." Aunt Lucy, who had been lovingly 
ministering to his wants, as earth was receding and the 
New Jerusalem was opening before him, said calmly 
when he had ceased to breathe, " Safe over Jordan at 
last!" 

Friends and relatives from far and near crowded his 
house at the funeral hour ; they dropped their silent 
tears on his grave ; here and there in the mourning 
throng men said : " He was an honest man ! " " He 
was a just man ! " " He was a good man ! " The 
Bible had been his great book. Two well-worn family 
Bibles have descended as heirlooms to his children. 
He had tested by experience the truths uttered by 
prophets, apostles and his Lord. He exemplified in 
his life the great requirement "to do justly, and to 
love mercy and to walk humbly with God." 

Aunt Lucy was left alone ; still her oldest daughter, 
living in the adjoining house, faithfully and tenderly 



SUNSET 349 

cared for her. One of her sons urgently entreated her 
to make her home with him, but she firmly refused to 
do so. She declared that as long as strength and rea- 
son lasted she would keep and direct her own house. 
Being more than threescore and ten, many regarded 
her as an old woman, but continuing strong in body 
and vigorous in mind, she had no consciousness of 
advancing age. She said, " I should never know that 
I was old if I didn't look in the glass." She diligently 
read the newspapers and kept abreast of all the political 
moves in the Republic and all the great religious enter- 
prises throughout the world. She never spoke of the 
past unless somebody asked her pointblank about it, 
but was deeply interested in all that was going on in 
the world about her. She became acquainted with 
some of the young ladies of the Seminary, and two of 
them roomed in her house. She entered with zest into 
their affairs, helped them get ready for parties and the 
public exhibitions of their school. To accommodate 
an aspiring young artist, she posed for him as an old 
woman. The girls never ceased to sound her praises. 
She was popular in the village. Many often ran 
in to have an hour's chat with her. She charmed them 
with the freshness of her thought and the brightness 
of her wit. One of her callers was an allopathic physi- 
cian, who held her in high esteem. He came so often 
that he and she had become familiar friends, but one 
evening in his conversation he ventured on dangerous 



350 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

ground. He said, " Mrs. Erskine, I hear that you 
have a homeopathic physician." She courteously re- 
pHed, " Yes, when I'm sick, I call a homeopathic doc- 
tor." He then went on to say, " I once, for three 
years, thoroughly examined the whole subject of 
homeopathy and came to the conclusion that it's a 
humbug." She quietly remarked, " You are not as 
smart a man as I thought." He, amused at her ob- 
servation, asked, "Why not?" "Because," said she, 
" by your own" confession, it took you three years to 
find out that a humbug is a humbug." Her shaft 
pierced but gave no pain, for the doctor shook with 
laughter. 

Beginning to be troubled with deafness, she con- 
sulted her physician, who, after a careful examination, 
said that, in his judgment, nothing could restore her 
hearing and in all probability her deafness would grow 
worse and worse. Quick as a flash she replied : " All 
right, doctor, I've heard enough ! " 

Her eyesight also partially failed so that she found 
it difficult to read. Still able, however, to hear toler- 
ably well in one ear, friends read the newspapers to 
her, so that she kept thoroughly posted on passing 
events. She also gave much time to silent thought. 
So great were her accumulated resources of mind and 
heart that she never felt lonely. I once met her at this 
period of her life. She made some shrewd criticisms 
on politicians and national politics, and then said that 



SUNSET 351 

she had been thinking much on God's sovereignty and 
man's free agency. " This question," she asserted, 
" used to trouble me, but I see now how it is ; it's 
plain enough when you take hold of it right." What 
her solution of it was I do not know, but it evidently 
satisfied her ; and it was an inspiration to talk with a 
woman almost ninety years old, who was delving into 
this problem of the ages. 

But her battle of life was about fought to a finish. 
She was suddenly seized with la grippe. With un- 
ruffled serenity she said, " This is my last illness." 
She was, however, still so vigorous in body and mind, 
that those most intimate with her thought that her 
notion of her approaching end was an illusion, born 
of the mental depression incident to the disease by 
which she was stricken. But, in spite of the skill of 
the physician and the assiduous efiforts of her friends, 
she steadily grew worse. The day of her departure 
dawned. She said to those who watched at her bed- 
side, " I wish now to pray and to pray aloud ; I want 
no one to disturb me by coming into my room ; I wish 
to be alone." Her request of course was granted ; but 
the oldest daughter sat near the door of the room in 
which her mother lay and heard every petition that 
fell from her lips. She first prayed for her eight chil- 
dren, calling each in turn by name from the oldest to 
the youngest, telling the Lord all about them and pray- 
ing importunately that each might be saved and guided 



352 WHEN NEIGHBORS WERE NEIGHBORS 

by the Holy Spirit. Then she prayed for her grand- 
children, presenting each by name to the Lord; after 
this for her friends and neighbors, and crowned her 
numerous petitions by pleading for the salvation of the 
whole world. Two hours were spent in this earnest, 
tender intercession, and the prayers of Aunt Lucy were 
ended. 

She now called for her oldest daughter, with whom 
she had a final, heart-to-heart talk, saying, among other 
confidences, that, having done all she could for her 
children, she was perfectly content. A few minutes 
of calm, peaceful rest followed, when she suddenly sat 
up in bed, stretched out her hands before her, looked 
right ahead intently, and in a clear voice cried, " John, 
I'm coming." She lay back on her pillow, and in less 
than half an hour fell asleep as quietly as an infant 
sinks to slumber on its mother's breast. 

In early life she was handsome, and now the beauty 
of her fresh womanhood, such as it was when she and 
John first met, came back to her face again, and a 
smile of ineffable sweetness lingered around her silent 
lips. The joy of meeting John once more had been 
caught, and was being held, in that winsome face of 
clay. 

True love had bound their hearts in one. With the 
passing years it had grown broader, deeper, richer. 
John's death had but increased it. It could not be 
confined to the earth. It outlasted time. Across the 



SUNSET 353 

gulf that separates two worlds one lover hailed the 
other with the glad words, " I'm coming." The love 
that began on earth goes on in heaven, and will go on, 
and on, and on forever. 

All of Aunt Lucy that was mortal was tearfully 
borne from her door to the cemetery. Children and 
grandchildren, with loving hands and aching hearts, 
tucked mother and grandmother in her bed, beside that 
of her beloved John, for her last, long sleep. The 
slumber of these life-long lovers shall be unbroken till 
the voice of their Lord wakes them up in the morning 
of the resurrection. 

How clearly all now saw that the clouds, which now 
and then stretched themselves athwart their western 
sky, had only made their sunset all the more re- 
splendent. 



ADDENDUM 

The country neighborhood that I have tried to por- 
tray is a microcosm. The Httle world of my boyhood 
is a faithful miniature of the greater world of my man- 
hood. There is not one among all my varied acquaint- 
ances in city and country, whose type is not readily 
found in the rural community where I was born and 
brought up. In it were some eccentric characters, that 
by their very oddity attracted more attention than all 
others ; just as it is always and everywhere ; but the 
rank and file of the neighborhood were a normal, 
every-day sort of folks, who, though they never spe- 
cially caught and held the eye of the public, did most 
of the work on the farms and in the shops and gave to 
society a high moral tone ; so it is also in all the world. 
There were some contemptible tricksters, foreshadow- 
ing the greater scoundrels of the twentieth century. 
There were a few that were admired and followed, 
not because they were peculiar, but on account of their 
genuine ability and spotless integrity ; the counter- 
part of this I have found in every truly democratic 
community. Some were far from being models of 
morality, but even they were good in spots, and a few 

354 



ADDENDUM 355 

of them grew better as they grew older. The anti- 
type of this also I have often seen in the wide world. 
Then I gladly note the fact that the good of my 
country neighborhood far outweighed the bad ; that 
if its goodness were put into one scale and its badness 
into the other, the latter would quickly kick the beam. 
Imperfect as all human organizations must be so long 
as their constituent units are imperfect, take the com- 
munity of my boyhood as a whole, it largely possessed 
those humble but priceless virtues, that are both the 
foundation and glory of our Republic. 



THE END. 



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